Shades of Gray
by xFreakx
Summary: Two different teens. Two sides. Fiona Crowley and Daniel Brown don't have it easy: both are mutants, on opposite sides of a battle escalating into war. Neither knows the part they'll play in the conflict... [Ch. 8 -- introducing Pyro, Puck, and Current.]
1. Change

i've got all the change  
everybody knows  
it hurts to grow up  
but everybody does  
it's so weird to be back here  
let me tell you what  
the years go on and  
we're still fighting it  
and you're so much like me  
i'm sorry  
—Ben Folds, Still Fighting It  
  
you know this is breakin' me up   
you think that i'm some kind of freak   
—Weezer, Getchoo  
  
SHADES OF GRAY  
  
Profile:  
Subject: Fiona Crowley.  
Alias: Predator.  
Age: 15.  
Gender: Female.  
Home: The Willows, Virginia.  
Mutation: Ability to change into any predator.  
Weakness: Mutations, when untrained, are uncontrollable. A residue of the animal's mind remains after the change back.  
Eyes: Brown.  
Hair: Brown.  
Height: 5' 2"  
Weight: 127 lbs.  
Distinguishing marks: Freckles, some small scars.  
Favorite subject: Gym.  
Least favorite subject: Math.  
Reads: Anything so long as it isn't assigned.  
Style: When away from home, vaguely skater.  
Personality: Despises school, but is intelligent. Fairly gentle except when in predator form. Enjoys reading but is not intellectual. Slow to anger, once angered, hard to forgive.  
Race: Caucasian, Anglo-Saxon descent.  
Religion: Nonobservant Catholic.  
Family: Parents, Robert and Cathy, little brothers James and Nick.  
  
Profile:  
Subject: Daniel Brown.  
Alias: Thorn.  
Age: 16 ½.  
Gender: Male.  
Home: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  
Mutation: Control over plants / can grow plants from his palms.  
Weakness: Not physically strong.  
Eyes: Green.  
Hair: Green, dyed.  
Height: 5' 11"  
Weight: 159 lbs.  
Distinguishing marks: Dyed hair.  
Favorite subject: History.  
Least favorite subject: Gym.  
Reads: Constantly.  
Style: Punk.  
Personality: Volatile, mercurial. Writes poetry / plays bass. Grows / sells pot to make extra money. Causes fights, and gets beaten up.  
Race: Korean / Caucasian. Korean mother; white father.  
Family: Father, Sam, deceased; mother, Mo-rae, abandoned him. In a foster home, Sheryl and Dave.  
  
It was a cool autumn day with a snap-chill in their air that indicated the change of season. A changing time, in more ways that one; autumn to winter, day to night, month to month, and.... Something else. Something – stranger. More dangerous. There was change in the air, but Fiona Crowley didn't know it yet. The girl, fifteen years old and solid-built, hearty farm stock, walked through the woods alone.  
  
It was not a particularly odd thing to do; the Woods was not the same as an inner city, a jungle of a completely different sort. No, it was part of their property. The Crowley family was poor in material goods, rich in land; technically, their land stretched through both forest and field, in the stolid Virginia back woods.  
  
In the autumn the trees wilted and burned themselves golden, and she stepped carefully through the paths, feet making hardly a noise as she navigated the crunching leaves on the path. Fiona and her younger brothers each had been hunting and stalking since they were little children. Jim and Nick had liked killing their prey, though, while Fiona didn't like using the rifles for fun; she would try to get as close to the animal as possible without scaring it off.  
  
Once she was only a foot away from the deer, staring the doe in the eyes. It had frozen, partly from fear and partly because this odd elf-child did not seem as though it would cause harm. And then Fiona had held out her hand and it had run off, through the forest, away to some secret deer-place.  
  
She was not a pretty child, at least in a conventional sense. The eyes were too large and dark, the face sun burnt and peeling across the nose; there were too many freckles and her nose was too strong. She looked stubborn, no mean feat in one barely into teenaged years. Nor was Fiona's build ideal: she was short, and solid, her breasts were small and her hips slim. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid that dangled to the small of her back, an unremarkable wheat-brown.  
  
And Fiona Crowley walked, enjoying the weekend. On Monday there would be school, with the teachers trying to shove the long dancing lines of math into her head, incomprehensible letters and symbols and signs.... The teacher was creepy, too, an old man who watched the girls too closely for Fiona's liking. Hungry, she thought, stomach grumbling.  
  
She should head back home. Fiona looked at the sky; it was growing darker, clouds drifting lazily across the Virginia skyline. A shortcut would be good, she thought, get home sooner and have something filling to eat. Mom had made a blueberry pie earlier – Fiona could almost /smell/ it drifting across the horizon. Her nose twitched slightly. That was odd. She /could/ smell it, though home was a mile away. Shrugging to herself, although with a growing sense of unease, Fiona Crowley veered from the path and into the woods.  
  
It began to drizzle lightly, abruptly, wetting the frizzes of curls that escaped her braid. Fiona picked up her steps, not even bothering to soften the sound of her feet. Branches and twigs cracked audibly beneath her scuffed sneakers. Home home home. For that odd reason, again, Fiona felt strange and panicky. As though she was trapped in a closed-in room, with no windows.  
  
That's silly, she told herself, You've always been at home in the forest. It's just the rain. Just the night. You're not even afraid of them.  
  
A soft growl from off to the side startled her out of her distracted reverie, and Fiona whirled, eyes wild. Sitting on its haunches in the clearing was a wolf, brown-yellow eyes gleaming. Curioser and curioser; she thought wildly, wolves normally didn't behave like that. They preferred to avoid humans, and definitely did /not/ grin like that, panting, tongue lolling around those teeth.  
  
It moved closer.  
  
And Fiona felt herself /change/.  
  
There was no time to think. No time to cry out or scream.  
  
It felt like her bones had been set on fire and were melting slowly, shifting shape to fit with some weird preordained mold. Oh my god, she thought, although her thoughts were suddenly.... simpler. The pain was gone, and the world had metamorphosed.  
  
It had gone black and white, although she no longer needed color – not with smell! Vibrant, vivid smell, mapping out the area around her. Fiona looked down and was not surprised to find that her feet were no longer five-toed and encased in sneakers; instead they were rather hairy gray furred paws. The other wolf was still growling – wait. /Other/ wolf?  
  
Sudden realization, a basic knowledge, kicked her in the head with steel-toed boots. She had known all her life that she was human, and now, every instinct was telling Fiona Crowley that her previous conceptions were complete bull, she was and always had been a wolf.  
  
Perhaps that was why the other lupine was watching , silent now, with raised hackles and a toothy grimace. Fiona-the-wolf was an intruder upon his territory, and what was more, she was /unnatural/. The real wolf was uncomfortable with this creature that smelled of both man and beast. Such things were not meant to be. He leaped, teeth outstretched.  
  
Fiona was ready for him. She twisted snake-like underneath the wolf, avoiding his claws and teeth, and sank her own jaws deep into his side, worrying the animal. What am I doing?! cried the part of her brain that was still human, but it was mostly submerged by the other, newly surfaced part that was yelling, Kill! Blood! Kill!  
  
The wolf growled and pulled free, circling more carefully now. Fiona darted in (No! No! I don't want to! What /am/ I? Help—me!) and snatched at his throat with her teeth, ripping. Blood spurted over her, warm and smelling of triumph. Her opponent had been elderly, unimportant in the pack, just a scout along the forest. And he had met his doom! Soon, she would be head of the pack—never mind the fact that it was usually the males who ruled—  
  
NO! Fiona struggled with herself, remembering details of her human life. Jim and Nick, giggling as they fought over a piece of candy. Her father, singing to them on Sundays. Mother, always re-painting some part of the house.... Fiona herself, smiling as she read 'Good Omens'....  
  
When they found her later, she was naked and shivering against the trunk of a scarred oak, covered in blood with the dead wolf at her feet.  
  
No one knew what to say.  
  
It was one of those things that wasn't mentioned.  
  
Ever.  
  
X  
  
Daniel Brown's long fingers deftly packed the weed into the piece of paper, rolling it shut and twisting the edges with a practiced gesture. He fished in his pocket for a lighter, holding it to the edge of the joint until it caught fire. That done, he returned the small black object to his pocket, and inhaled slowly. The window was open, of course, and the door shut.  
  
Sheryl was downstairs entertaining friends. Most likely complaining to them about Dan's inexplicable fascination with horrible bands like the Sex Pistols and something with Murphy in it. It was funny, especially considering that she listened to things like Herman's Hermits, or some shit like that.  
  
At least he had good taste in music.  
  
Dan lay back on his bed, relaxing as he let the drug take hold of his brain. He was tall and very skinny, with hardly a defined muscle on his body. Although his face had a rather Asian look to it, especially in the shape of his eyes, the color of them was wrong; dark green, the shade of a forest at night. Otherwise, he looked like any other rebellious teen: spiky hair dyed neon green, baggy jeans bought in a thrift shop, and a Mighty Mouse T-shirt.  
  
His room, again, was rather odd. Although it was covered with posters of various bands and ticket stubs from various concerts, there were an unusual amount of plants in it. Dan liked plants, they liked him; foliage he tended rarely wilted. And, of course, in the sock draw were the marijuana plants that didn't seem to need the sun – /that/ was the odd thing, in his opinion.  
  
Dan listened to the chatter downstairs, and frowned. Sheryl Brown was, well, nice, but nice only went so far. Her friends annoyed her foster son by their very existence. Perhaps it was because he had no friends of his own. He'd always had a feeling that he had no place in the world – he was a cuckoo taking up the space of the rightful child. He wasn't Korean enough for the Koreans or white enough for the whites. His acidic tongue didn't win friends, either, nor did the angry, bitter songs mocking his school and everyone in it.  
  
No, he had no place at all, and it bothered him. But there was.... something else.... that he couldn't explain but felt instinctively. Maybe it was the influence of the weed, but a closed, slightly paranoid feeling descended upon him. To cover his discomfort he blared the Screeching Weasels at high volume and heard the voices downstairs falter. Feet on the stairs, door thrown open.  
  
"Daniel!" Dave exclaimed, voice sounding warped in Dan's ears, "Turn the music down, you're bothering your Moth—wait a minute," he growled, sniffing suddenly. "I /knew/ it! You've been smoking again – and TODAY – well, hand it over, young man, I'm ashamed of you!" Dave smacked him once on the side of the head.  
  
He cringed away from his foster father. Dave didn't hit often, but when he did.... "Leave me alone," Daniel said, eyes narrowing dangerously. That odd feeling again. Was the room shrinking?  
  
"We've told you again and again," slap, "We will /not/ tolerate drugs in the house!" Slap. Slap.  
  
"Don't touch me," Dan said quietly, looking up. There was a strange light in his eyes. Dave fought the sudden urge to back away. "DON'T touch me," the boy repeated, louder. His hands lifted up, palms outstretched, the rage that had been building inside him since childhood seeping dangerously into the open.  
  
This is not happening to me, Dave thought deliriously – it could not happen. Vines could NOT grow from someone's hands like that, especially not thorny vines, and they could NOT lift him up in the air like that. "D-Daniel?" he stammered, "Put me down, boy!"  
  
"No," Daniel said coolly, "I told you not to touch me."  
  
The vines twitched and Dave was thrown upside-down, with the thorns digging deeply into his wrists and legs. "SHERYL!" he screamed, "GET OUT! MUTANT!"  
  
There were answering shrieks from downstairs as the pampered women panicked. They very rarely exercised; the most that many of them had walked that day was the distance between the parking lot and the tanning salon.  
  
Dan, meanwhile, felt detached from himself, as though he watched a tiny-model of a boy. The boy had a frightening smile on his face, and there....were....vines....growing from his hands. What am I? It was a question he had always asked, but now, now he knew.  
  
He was a mutant.  
  
X  
  
The police came too late. By the time they had chopped down the vines (which, oddly enough, had taken root in the bedroom floor) and released Mr. Smyth, the monster was gone. The terrified man showed them the deep puncture wounds in his arms and legs, modern day stigmata, and the bloody thorns that lay on the crimson stained carpet, sad and forlorn. They questioned him, but he could not tell them much, except that Dan had been such a sweet boy when he was younger.  
  
No, sir, they had not known he had....any....strange powers.  
  
This? In the sock drawer? ....Oh. We didn't know he was growing /that/....  
  
Find our Danny. Please.  
  
They never did.  
  
X  
  
"Fiona? Are you all right?" the voice said cautiously from outside of the door. Since the "episode," as her family termed it, they'd walked quietly around her.  
  
"F-fine," she stammered, curled up into a ball on her bed. After the first violent change, she'd found that wolf-body was not the only one she could take. Fiona, who couldn't even eat meat because the blood sickened her, could morph into predator after predator – wolf, cougar, fox, hawk. And each had needs and thoughts of its own – the downside to the transformations was that they left a residual animal mind jostling with hers.  
  
It was disconcerting to find that, when bothered by your little brother, your first thought was to go for the jugular.  
  
Fiona was afraid she was going crazy. What if the transformations weren't real at all, and she was just imagining them? Was she insane? And then, she'd remember the first corpse at her feet, the wolf still warm and twitching, and she knew that it was real.  
  
And it scared her even more.  
  
X  
  
It wasn't hard to find food. Well, most of the food which he actually /found/ was inedible at best, but it was simple enough to make money and buy his own. It was more difficult to find a place to sleep, and for the first week Dan lay down on park benches, clutching his small bag of extra clothes and money, as well as, hidden in a secret pocket, a fresh supply of pot to sell. Nothing was stolen, surprisingly enough, but it was time to move on. Restless feet and a persistent worry that the cops would follow, along with Sheryl and Dave screaming for their child back. No one came.  
  
After two weeks he no longer worried about anyone following. Dan had become transitory, another faceless kid on the street. Once he watched, through the window of an electronics store, an arrogant, well-manicured newscaster doing a special on the street kids in New York. "And you say you were sexually abused at home?" she asked a vacant eyed brightly painted young prostitute. The girl was no older than sixteen and she stared at the camera like a trapped animal.  
  
Dan laughed and imagined the newswoman interviewing him; fanatical, ratings-hungry eyes determined to smile. "And you're selling drugs for a living?"  
  
"Why yes, ma'am, I am."  
  
"Do you miss your parents?"  
  
Pause. "What parents?"  
  
"Oh," the newscaster would say, slightly put off, then eager; "Are you an orphan, then?"  
  
"No. Plants sprouted out of my hands and attacked my foster father, so I ran away."  
  
"Oh!" Pause. "How tragic."  
  
It was not a bad life as those things wen, and he was growing rather attached to the freedom. That would change in two weeks when, on a sudden whim, he hitched a ride in a truck to a small town called Bayville.  
  
X  
  
Lance Alvers was, like Daniel, a foster child. His parents – hah. Some parents /they/ were. The woman was a complete whore and the man was an alcoholic who drank away her earnings, or paid for other whores with the ill-begotten money. It was not a life much better than the one Lance had left behind – no, don't think of it – but at least Frank didn't hit him. All of that was gone, as was the school below him, in a pile of smoking rubble.  
  
His head ached.  
  
And then there was a woman, stern and ugly in her rigidness, naming him Avalanche (HER Avalanche, as if Lance had ever belonged to someone) and promising a better life.  
  
After all, what had he to lose?  
  
That was last year.  
  
This is now.  
  
X  
  
"Two newly active mutants," Xavier murmured to himself, shaking his head. "Confused, both of them...." He glanced at Ororo Munroe, who sat at a desk, writing. The pencil scratched and filled the comfortable silence between them.  
  
"Indeed," she said, and nodded. "I'll tell Logan to ready the jet." 


	2. Amphetamines & Jellybeans

DISCLAIMER!!! X-Men belongs to Marvel and X-Men Evolution to the WB. I own only Dan and Fiona, and I ask you kindly not to steal them. x_X;;; A warning. This fic is RATED R for a reason. Contained within (in no particular order) are language, violence, and drugs. You shouldn't be reading this if you're under 13. You probably shouldn't be reading this if you /are/ 13. Let's just say you've been dually warned.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
amphetamines and jellybeans....  
the hardest part is letting go  
but you've got to or you know  
you'll end up waiting....  
—Eve6, Amphetamines  
  
Forever lost in darkness / to never see the light / endless cold uncertainty / ever trembling fright – it was a song that his mother, before the.... problems.... had sung to him. Perhaps he was lost in darkness but he didn't mind the fact that light and goodness were so very far away. Lance had never been afraid of the dark, like so many other children – he found, actually, that the dark was a comforting presence. Lance lay on his back on the cot and stared at the ceiling, which was dripping a noxious-looking green goo. If /that/ was Todd's fault, Lance was going to make him very sorry indeed.  
  
After what happened on that piece of shit rock, everything had been shot to hell. They were disorganized; Mystique was missing (not that he minded.... She was a nasty, controlling bitch) and they fought amongst themselves. Well.... Sort of. Lance sometimes let Pietro think he was the leader of the Brotherhood, because the silver-haired boy had an ego large enough to fill the school and leak through the windows. Fred was not smart enough to do anything for himself, and Todd simply didn't /care/....  
  
Still, they were all he had and Lance found himself grudgingly.... Not liking. (Well, maybe. But he'd never admit it to himself.)  
  
And then there was Kitty Pryde, a completely /different/ sort of problem. (Why was he so fascinated by her, anyway? She was such a /valley/ girl.)  
  
It was almost as like there were two Lances, each arguing to dominance inside of his head.  
  
Maybe all his troubles had started because some misguided woman had named him 'Lance.'  
  
Sometimes men look like angels when they sleep.  
  
Lance, rolling over and drifting off, looked exactly like a smirking teenager.  
  
X  
  
Daniel Brown shifted nervously on the train. The initial euphoria had worn off and he was feeling cramped, depressed, trapped, and irritable. The woman sitting next to him glanced over curiously at the too-thin boy with his foot tapping incessantly on the floor. "What are you looking at?" he snarled. She blinked, affronted. "Bitch."  
  
"Excuse /me/!" the woman fluted.  
  
The train was going to Chicago, not just another nowhere town in the middle of America. He was traveling, couldn't stay anywhere long, for there was always an itch to move on, away from the shit life that he found. It was just that he kept expecting so much from the new place, and when it disappointed he couldn't stay, it made him so angry. Chicago had the dealers, though.  
  
The Amtrak was an older one, the sort that had ripped seats and writings all over the walls. Although he wasn't hungry at all he ate a bag of Jelly Bellies absently, not even noticing the flavors. Dan's hyper-charged brain read everything on the side – he wondered who RB and SJ were. Or whether Mona was as much of a slut as an unknown author claimed.  
  
He shrank into the chair and clutched his backpack, watching the world rush by in a blur. Everything was blurred, his future, his life, his body, his soul.... Confusion, chaos. He needed more. More, more, more. What he'd taken wasn't enough, the high was gone almost before it started. Dan bit his lip, teeth digging into the flesh. Tiny drops of blood leaked around his teeth but he didn't bother to wipe them away. He wasn't an addict, he didn't need /anything/.  
  
Or anyone.  
  
X  
  
"Professor," Ororo thought, "The boy is on the move. It will be.... Inefficient to search for him first. Shall I focus on the girl?"  
  
"Whatever you deem best, Ororo," came Xavier's voice in her head, "I have complete trust in you."  
  
Ororo sighed – it was so much more difficult when sole responsibility was on /your/ head.  
  
X  
  
Fiona groaned – another transformation was beginning. She could tell by the way that her entire body tingled, as though every nerve had been electrified. Not again – she was beginning to grow rather tired of the changes, and was terrified that one would happen in school. Fiona had lied to her mother and said that she was sick, and had managed to stay at home for a week. The mutations came randomly or when she was feeling stressed. It was a cycle that, in better circumstances, would actually have been amusing: she panicked when she mutated and she mutated when she panicked.  
  
No! NO! Fight it! Fightitfightitfightit. Don't give in, Fiona, don't give—  
  
Too late. She shrank towards the ground, about to scream, but all that came out was a strangled squawk. Her vision shifted, became sharper, and she stumbled on the ground on talons which did not balance properly. For a moment, the huge golden eagle floundered on the floor comically, before she caught her bearings and perched on the bedstead.  
  
Fiona saw her reflection in the mirror, a giant, savage looking bird with a sharply curved beak. She ducked her head away from the glass so that she wouldn't see herself. Painful. Painful sight, painful being stuck in this small room, where the air went stagnant and dull. With an experimental flap of her wings, Fiona flew through the window and flapped upwards until she floated comfortably on the thermals.  
  
She passed the better part of the afternoon like this, and it was enjoyable, except when the eagle-body got hungry and despite her attempts not to, it ate a small rat.  
  
It was easy, instinctive, to fly. For a moment Fiona almost forgot her fear – the fear which had been plaguing her since the first night as a wolf. It was enough to be weightless and see the entire vista of the Virginia woods stretched below her, green and lush. The streams traced through the trees in glittering blue veins.  
  
Oh, yeah? An inner voice demanded nastily; and what happens when this mutation wears off, eh? You go plummeting towards the ground and SPLAT.  
  
The same voice continued. What if your parents find out? What'll they think of you then?  
  
Shut up, Fiona thought viciously. I'm.... I'm FINE.  
  
There was a screaming noise in the distance, a plane approaching. Startled, Fiona lost control of the eagle-body and she changed back, hundreds of feet in the air, a naked girl dropping towards the earth. "FUCK!" the girl shrieked.  
  
This is it. She was surprised to find that there were no prayers.  
  
Fiona squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the final impact. The roaring in the distance grew louder – or was that just the sound of the air rushing by her? – and then she /hit/.  
  
X  
  
Dan traversed the streets of one of Chicago's more suspect areas. They tended to hold the most interest for him, in people and in.... Other ways. It didn't look as though it was going to be a good night. Thick purple clouds covered the moon, and smoke drifting along the horizon prevented anyone from being able to see the sky, even if they'd looked up.  
  
"'Ey, pretty boy," a voice slurred behind him. Dan turned around and a thick arm grabbed him around the neck. "You lookin' f'r trubble?" the man said. He was drunk, or high. Under the influence of something.  
  
Dan twisted in the man's grip. "No."  
  
"Aww, c'mon...." The a hand traveled downwards. "No' trubble then.... Jus' some fun.... Thas' all."  
  
"Get the hell off me," Daniel exclaimed, but the man only laughed, and punched him in the face, the left eye. He'd never been good in fights, and the old panic filled his stomach. He was going to die.... And then, Dan mentally kicked himself for being stupid. He was a mutant, wasn't he?  
  
He decided he'd had enough. Dan lashed out with his knee, catching the man in a very tender area. His attacker wheezed, doubled over, then looked up, bleary eyes enraged. "You're gonna be so fucking sorry when I'm done wi' you, pretty boy," he gasped, and raised a fist.  
  
"I don't think so." Dan lifted his arms up, palms out.  
  
"Wha' th' fuck?" the man screamed, "Wha' th' fuck're you doin' ta me, you fucking freak?"  
  
"I could say something really clichéd," Dan said, as the thorns dug deeply into the man's flesh, into his stomach, arms, legs, and more /important/ parts, "Like, 'I'm teaching you a lesson.' But that's just not me."  
  
He walked away, leaving the man trapped in the makeshift net of thorny vines.  
  
An animal-like whimper came from the bundle of flesh and plant, but Daniel Brown ignored it.  
  
Maybe it was time to move on again.  
  
X  
  
Ororo Munroe surveyed the unconscious girl on the floor of the Blackbird. She looked as though she had not been eating enough lately, though would normally be quite solid. Oddly enough, the child was naked as well, crumpled in a heap. The older woman sighed and leaned over to pick the pitiful bundle up. Though slender, Ororo was much stronger than she looked, and she carried her burden easily to an alcoved room reserved for these types of emergencies.  
  
The top hatch had, sadly enough, come in handy more than once; catching team members as they fell. Really, Ororo thought, It would make sense to put some padding beneath it.... The door slid open before Ororo, and she walked forward to place the girl on a table, covering her with a sheet. Then, she moved off to the side to sit on a chair, and wait.  
  
X  
  
Fiona regained consciousness before she opened her eyes.  
  
She let one slide open slowly, afraid that what she would see was....  
  
But the ceiling was smooth metal and she opened the other eyes, quite sure that metal ceilings were not what a dead person should be seeing. Fiona sat up, clutching the blanket around herself. "What—" and her eyes flickered towards the woman sitting on the chair. Fiona's brain, confused attempted to register where she was and what had happened. "I fell, but—"  
  
"Don't worry, Fiona," the woman said, low voice soothing. "If you wrap that blanket around yourself, there's clothes in the other room."  
  
"Right," she mumbled, face bright, burning red.  
  
Fiona curled the blanket around herself, toga-like, and backed away from the dark woman, watching her carefully. She bumped against the door and fumbled with the lock, pushing it backwards and slamming it shut. Breathe, Fiona. Deep breaths.   
  
It was a tiny room, about half the size of the one she'd just left, with only a chair and an end table stuck in a corner. Resting on the chair was a navy blue jumpsuit. It normally would not have been Fiona's choice of attire, but as it was the only thing available she shrugged into it without complaint. It zipped up the back, which was difficult to do by herself, but, by contorting her back, Fiona was able to get it easily enough. Shivering, though not with cold, she opened the door and glanced at the woman.  
  
"Who are you?" Fiona asked, "How do you know my name? And what am I doing here?" Oh god. She was nervous, the tingling starting—  
  
"I'm Ororo Munroe. I'm a.... Representative of Professor Charles Xavier's institute for gifted youngsters—"  
  
"You're a mutie too, aren't you?"  
  
"Mutant," Ororo corrected, "And I caught you as you fell."  
  
"Yeah, thanks a lot," Fiona muttered, tugging at the jumpsuit. It was too big in the chest and at the waist, and bagged oddly. She felt like a complete geek, especially when compared to Ororo's carefully tailored uniform.  
  
"I know what you must be going through, Fiona," Ororo said quietly. "The confusion. The fear." She reached out and touched Fiona's arm.  
  
Fiona shied away from the contact like a nervous colt, backing against the wall. "Look," she said, "I don't know what's wrong with me, but maybe I'm crazy and I think you're crazy too, I don't know what you're talking about and /I want to go home/!"  
  
"We can help you," Ororo said. "We can. Really. But.... You will have to trust."  
  
"But how can you trust me?" Fiona said, giggling nervously, "I'm a freak. I randomly turn into bloodthirsty animals."  
  
"At the Institute, you /learn/ control. Imagine that, Ms. Crowley." Ororo paused to let the words sink in. "Never worrying about morphing at an inopportune time. You'll be able to subjugate the animal mind lurking behind your thoughts...."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"A small town, called Bayville. You would be able to visit your parents. They will be able to visit you."  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
"You always have a choice," Ororo said coolly, "Whether you make the right one or not is always up to you."  
  
"My parents.... I'd have to talk to them...."  
  
"I am sure that once things are explained, they'll see the wisdom of the Institute."  
  
Fiona sighed and fiddled with the cuff of her jumpsuit. She was NOT having a good day.  
  
X  
  
Daniel stepped off the train, shouldering the backpack. Bayville seemed /happy/. And small. The man at the ticket booth smiled at a middle-aged woman as she bought a round-trip ticket to the capital city. A father held the hand of his small daughter as he helped her up the stairs into the compartment. Dan spat on the concrete and glanced around, deciding where to go next.  
  
His eye ached. It was swelled almost shut from the incident in Chicago, still hadn't healed.  
  
It didn't look like there was much of a city, Bayville was mostly suburbs and the stores and malls catering to suburban life. It was all very familiar to him – Dan would have bet anything that there was a Starbucks around the corner. Another thing that was familiar, the sudden desire for speed, filled him and he almost panicked. But it wouldn't do to go crazy in the middle of a new town, not so soon. Dan fought ruthlessly for control of himself.  
  
"Are you okay?" a voice asked.  
  
He looked.  
  
It was a small, grubby girl about nine or ten, big eyes outlined in too much makeup for someone her age. They grew larger as they took in the semi-insane light touching his face. "I wouldn't have asked," she said in a quick stream of words, "Only you look like Mommy looks. When she hasn't...." The girl glanced sideways to make sure no one was listening. "I know how it's like not to have it. I can tell you where to get some."  
  
Dan looked at her, bemused, haggard face twisting into a smirk. "How would /you/ know about it, kid? You can't be out of fourth grade."  
  
She sniffed in disdain, four feet of solid cynicism. "Don't go to school. I.... Help Mommy."  
  
He glanced at her again, pity stabbing even his tired heart. He knew what /that/ meant.... So Bayville wasn't as clean of a town as it looked, not if it had child prostitutes like this one. He reached out and ruffled the girl's hair; she giggled and pulled away. "So do you want me to tell you where it's sold or not?"  
  
"Yeah," Dan said, nodding at his tiny guide, "Yeah, I do."  
  
She slipped her hand into his and lead him into the shadows.  
  
X  
  
Sheryl Brown cried a lot, lately. Dave didn't know what to do. He could not understand why she was so attached to the freak he'd run off weeks ago. He didn't understand why she persisted in attempting to get the police to search for the mutie. Actually, Dave didn't really understand women at all, but it didn't trouble him for long.  
  
Eventually she'd give up that stupid hope of finding the freak.  
  
Right?  
  
X  
  
Now that his mind was clear again, Dan wandered around the city, getting to know it better. There wasn't much of a scene. One grimy little club where some punks half-heartedly danced to a mediocre Rancid cover band and that was about it. He could see the almost palatial school in the distance. Large schools meant preps, something Dan was not at all fond of. It wasn't as if he was going to school, anyway. He trotted silently along the streets, examining the stores. Again, nothing interesting.  
  
It was entirely dark, even only at eleven. The street, in what appeared to be the "city" portion of Bayville was lit by fizzling neon signs. One caught his eye; a comics shop called The Cavern. It was tiny, as the best comics stores were, and cramped. Dan pushed open the door, but there wasn't a bell. The shelves, close together and well kept, were organized and listed alphabetically.  
  
Dan browsed through the latest issues of Spiderman, keeping a careful eye on the skinny clerk with geek glasses in the spirit of Weezer's Rivers Cuomo. For some odd reason, store workers usually watched Dan with suspicion, and he didn't want to cause any trouble. Yet.  
  
"Good choice, yo," a voice behind him said.  
  
Dan turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"  
  
The speaker was a small boy with a strangely hunched-over back. His hair was long, scraggly, and rather greasy looking; he was skinny and withered. In short, the boy basically had nothing going for him. To enunciate the fact, he dressed like an adult's idea of what a punk should look like, complete with thick wristbands. "Yeah," he repeated, sly smile crossing his face. "Lotsa action, and you could almost believe that Spidey's a mutie."  
  
"Most people wouldn't think that was such a good idea," Dan replied, and went back to browsing.  
  
The boy was not about to be ignored. Glancing to make sure the clerk wasn't watching, he jumped and landed neatly on the top of the book-rack, his light weight not enough to knock it over. "Not me, kid," he said. "And I don't think you, either, yo."  
  
Dan, face guarded, looked up again. "Right," he said, face pale, "Tell me who the fuck you are."  
  
"Todd Tolensky," Todd said amiably, smiling that bizarre smile again. It was like the corners of his mouth moved independently of each other, crawling across his face like flies. He flipped off of the rack again, standing on the floor like a normal person. "Pleased to meetcha."  
  
"Daniel Brown," he said, and held out his hand, wincing as Todd's grimy, sweaty palms gripped his. "How did you.... Know?" At least, it seemed like Todd had known.  
  
"About bein' a mutie?" Todd grinned, showing yellow teeth.  
  
"Shut up, you fucking moron," Dan muttered uneasily, "Someone could hear."  
  
"A'right," Todd said, breezily unconcerned, "Then let's take a walk, you'n me, and I'll tell you 'bout someone who can help you."  
  
Dan hesitated. Help him what?  
  
Still.... He wasn't promising anything. Just hearing the frog boy out.  
  
"Right. Let's go, punk-boy."  
  
Todd Tolensky, walking a step behind Dan, smiled suddenly.  
  
This was even easier than he'd thought it was going to be. 


	3. On Parade

DISCLAIMER!!! X-Men belongs to Marvel and X-Men Evolution to the WB. I own only Dan and Fiona, and I ask you kindly not to steal them. x_X;;; A warning. This fic is RATED R for a reason. Contained within (in no particular order) are language, violence, and drugs. You shouldn't be reading this if you're under 13. You probably shouldn't be reading this if you /are/ 13. Let's just say you've been dually warned.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
you've got to quit your little charade  
and join the freak parade  
—Bad Religion, The World Won't Stop  
  
Fiona sat in the co-pilot's seat, but she was not allowed to touch the instruments. Ororo controlled the plane's momentum, Fiona merely stared out of the window, somewhat sullenly, and watched the world go by.  
  
She didn't know how she'd expected her parents to react to the news, but.... The way they looked at her, as though she was going to break or explode, or turn into a wolf and.... It was almost like they were glad she was going away to this Institute place. Jim and Nick, on the other hand, were complaining bitterly about the fact that /they/ didn't have any cool powers. Mom had hushed them and ushered the boys out of the room. Like she was something they shouldn't be seeing.  
  
So here she was, holding a tiny suitcase with some spare changes of clothes, sitting next to a disarmingly silent woman who was able to easily fly a high-tech jet plane. It was, Fiona thought bemusedly, rather a sudden change. At least the sensation that heralded the Change hadn't begun. It wouldn't be practical to have a cougar running around the Blackbird.  
  
"Um, Ororo?"  
  
"Yes?" the woman asked, never lifting her eyes away from the instrument panel.  
  
"....How many other kids're in this school of yours?"  
  
"About twenty, but we are receiving more applicants every day."  
  
"But we don't go to normal school there, do we?"  
  
"No, you will attend Bayville High."  
  
"Oh." It was useless to try and start conversation with Ororo, if she didn't want to talk, she could freeze fire to a stand still.  
  
Instead, she thought about the life she left behind. A family, once loving; now oddly stilted and formal. Jim, with his irrational desire to be a professional hockey player; Nick, with no ambition that the rest of the family could discern. They were a quirky bunch, but to Fiona it seemed as though she had been exorcised from them, set apart. Because of the strange gene which had reacted and ruined her life.  
  
She could see no conceivable benefit in being a mutant. People got through their days just fine without randomly turning into bloodthirsty animals.  
  
"There's a student named Wolfsbane with powers similar to yours."  
  
"Wolfsbane?" Fiona asked, puzzled, "What sort of a name is that?"  
  
Ororo laughed for the first time, a pleasant, though almost bell-like sound. "Every member of the X-Men has a code name. For example, I'm Storm."  
  
"Will I have to have one too?"  
  
"It would be advisable, yes."  
  
"Oh. What could I be, then? Spots? Sparky?" Fiona wanted to know, a bit cynically.  
  
"If that's what you want," Ororo said placidly.  
  
Fiona sighed, and decided that it would be best to spend the rest of the ride in silence. She fished around in her bag and took out Interesting Times, and settled down to read. The trip was much shorter than she'd thought, and she'd only reached the bit where Rincewind was almost executed before the plane touched down outside the Institute and the doors hissed open.  
  
Waiting outside were two students and a man in a wheelchair, legs covered with a dark blanket. She nodded, and hung back shyly behind Ororo as the woman chatted easily with the crippled man. The mansion was huge, white, and beautiful, the grounds extensive but heavily manicured. There would be no wild woods here. Fiona blinked as she realized someone was speaking to her. "Er, sorry, what?"  
  
"Like, I was saying it's a little scary the first time you see it," one of the students said. She was about Fiona's height but more petite. Her brown hair was pulled back carefully into a ponytail, and she wore a pink sweater that looked like an old favorite. The other, a boy, was short, pale, and seemed like he'd enjoy techno music.  
  
"I wasn't scared," Fiona said honestly, "I was just thinking about how.... Neat everything is."  
  
The boy laughed. "Ja, und we do our best to mess it up again." He held out a hand. "I am Kurt Wagner, and the cat here is Kitty Pryde."  
  
Fiona shook his hand and her eyes widened. Although it looked normal, she was sure that she felt only three fingers – and his hand was /fuzzy/. He grinned at her surprised expression, showing his teeth, and pressed a button on his watch. His image fizzled, replaced by a blue elf creature with golden eyes. Kitty, unperturbed, smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Like, stop it, Kurt. Let her get used to everything before you scare her!"  
  
Fiona grinned weakly. "I'm Fiona Crowley."  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Kurt said pressing the button again, and Kitty nodded assent.  
  
"Sooo," Fiona said awkwardly, "Do you like it here?"  
  
"Well," Kitty replied, "The Professor's like, really strict most of the time, but like, school is easy."  
  
"For you!" laughed Kurt, and then rolled his eyes in Fiona's direction. "Miss Genius might think so, but we know better."  
  
"Don't like, worry about it," Kitty said, and grinned. "I really think you'll do okay."  
  
X  
  
"Well, well," said Pietro nastily, "Look what the Toad dragged in."  
  
"Can it, Silver," Lance replied, struggling to sit up on the over-stuffed couch.  
  
"Meet our new recruit," Todd said grandly, "This here's Daniel Brown."  
  
"Nonono," Pietro said, shaking his head, "We can't have that. He needs a /name/."  
  
"What's wrong with the one I've got already?" Dan demanded.  
  
"Weeeelll...." said Pietro, "It lacks a certain.... Intimidation factor? I mean, people will hardly run screaming from the Terrifying Dan, will they?"  
  
"Why do I /want/ people running screaming from me?"  
  
"Comes with the uniform."  
  
"Uniform?"  
  
"Todd," Lance said, exasperated, "You didn't explain anything to him, did you."  
  
"Er," said Todd.  
  
Lance stood up and Daniel examined the other boy carefully. He was pretty grungy looking; not that Dan was any better, these days, with longish brown hair and brown eyes. His face was strong and fairly handsome, as those things went, but there was a certain suspicious, sardonic edge to it that would not endear him to many. Dan, however, found himself instinctively liking the other teen.  
  
"What the amphibian didn't tell you," Lance said, "Is that we're the Brotherhood of Mutants."  
  
"Brotherhood of Mutants. It sounds like something out of a comic book."  
  
"Yeah, well," Lance said uneasily, "We're kind of stuck with it."  
  
"Sorry to hear that."  
  
"Eh, we'll live. We're a group.... Devoted to protecting mutant kind? That's what Mystique told us, anyway. It's not really like that. /She/ doesn't look out for us. It's every mutant for himself, and we're aiming to come out on top."  
  
That sounded reasonable enough to Dan, who nodded slowly. "So.... What does being in the Brotherhood involve?"  
  
"Well, sometimes we have to run errands for Magneto—he's the boss," Lance said, rubbing his hands together, "But mostly, we just get through life. Oh. And occasionally fight the X-Geeks."  
  
"The X-Geeks?"  
  
"They're a bunch of self righteous pricks," Pietro shot in. "Think they're all high and mighty."  
  
"Basically," Lance agreed, "And they make life fucking difficult for us."  
  
Dan had known more than a few people like that at his old school. He made a face, and Todd laughed. "I think he's catching on, yo."  
  
"So you're in?" Lance asked.  
  
"Yeah," Dan answered. Or at least until a better prospect comes up.  
  
"Good," Lance said, and smiled. "We've all got an alias, like. I'm Avalanche, Pietro here's Quicksilver, and Todd is Toad.... Oh, and there's Freddy, he's the Blob, but he's asleep right now."  
  
"And it's best not to be around him then," Pietro said, making an eloquent face. "I'm fast. Lance is a living earthquake, and Toad's self explanatory. What can you do?"  
  
"Plants."  
  
"/Plants/?" Todd exclaimed, "That's chickenshit, man!"  
  
"Not if you use it right," Dan said, and grinned. He rubbed his hands together, lifted his palms, and concentrated. From a spot in the floor, a thick, thorny vine sprouted up towards the ceiling, growing wider with every second.  
  
"Stop it, you fucking idiot!" Pietro said, "We've got to fucking live here!"  
  
"Sorry," Dan said calmly, "But Toad here wanted to know."  
  
Todd shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. "Oh well." He tested one of the spines on the plant with his thumb and yelped, sucking the bleeding wound.  
  
"So.... You still need a name."  
  
"How about Pansy?" Todd suggested, straight faced.  
  
Dan grinned. "It, er, lacks something."  
  
"Sprout?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Tulip?"  
  
"Oh, come /on/."  
  
"Buttercup!"  
  
"Thorn?" Pietro offered, "It's not girly or anything. And it fits."  
  
"Thorn," Dan said, trying it out for size, "I /like/ it."  
  
X  
  
"You'll need a name," Kitty said, eyeing Fiona up and down. "What're your powers?"  
  
"Er...." Fiona said, "I kind of change into animals."  
  
"Vat sort of animal?" Kurt asked.  
  
"....Nasty ones, usually."  
  
"I've /got/ it!" said Kitty. "It's like, totally perfect."  
  
"Vat is it, Kitty?" Kurt wanted to know.  
  
"How about Predator?"  
  
"Predator?" Fiona said uneasily, "I don't know.... It sounds.... mean."  
  
"Exactly," Kitty said cheerfully, "We need at least one mean sounding name on the team. After all.... Nightcrawler isn't the most intimidating, is it?"  
  
"You're named after a worm?" Fiona asked, trying not to smirk as she glanced at Kurt.  
  
He shuffled defensively. "It vas the Professor's idea."  
  
"So, Predator," Kitty said, "Welcome to the X-Men!"  
  
X  
  
"Ah," the wheelchair bound man said, "I see you've met Kurt and Kitty." He smiled, friendly. Fiona nodded mutely. "Welcome to the Institute; I am Charles Xavier, the founder. Do you have any questions? Most of them will be answered in the days to come, however.... No?" He smiled again. "I think, Fiona, that you will fit in perfectly here."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Now, if you, Kitty, would show her the room? Storm and I must talk privately."  
  
"Like, sure!"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
X  
  
"I'm afraid, Ororo, that it is too late. The Brotherhood have already taken him in."  
  
"The Brown boy?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor."  
  
"There is nothing you could have done."  
  
"Still. He is misguided, scared, and addicted."  
  
"Perhaps he will come to us, in his own time."  
  
X  
  
Kitty kept up a steady stream of chatter as they walked up the stairs. "Like, it kind of sucks having to like, share a bathroom, but you get your own room so it's like, dealable, you know?" Kitty trotted along the hallway, a small, very talkative whirlwind. "You can like, decorate it however you want – I've got /mine/ done in band posters!"  
  
"N Sync?" Fiona asked, rolling her eyes.  
  
"Like, NO," Kitty said scornfully, "Mostly Weezer."  
  
Fiona grinned. "Good," she said, relieved, "I thought you might like.... Boy bands."  
  
"Oh, no," Kitty said, "That's Jean."  
  
"Jean?"  
  
"You can't miss her. Tall. Beautiful. Perfect."  
  
"Sounds like a lovely girl."  
  
"Yeah. So what do you listen to?" Kitty asked, opening a door.  
  
"Alternative, mostly," Fiona said, "Weezer, Tenacious D, Radiohead, the Strokes...."  
  
"Hey," exclaimed Kitty, "You've got good taste!"  
  
"Thanks," Fiona said, pleased. "Is this my room?"  
  
"M-hm," Kitty said, "Look, I've got a ton of homework, but if you've got any questions, just ask!"  
  
"Thank you," Fiona said, "Thank you very much."  
  
She examined the room. It was fairly small and very dull, but Kitty had assured her that it could be decorated. There was a twin bed tucked in one corner, with a sky blue quilt and blanket beneath. The floor was wood paneled with a blue throw rug over the center. A window at one end streamed light into the room, along that same wall was a bookshelf and, beneath the window, a desk. On the other side were an empty closet for clothes, and a spider plant hanging from the ceiling.  
  
She set her bag down on the bed, and went to the window, opening it to air out the room. Below, a handsome boy with pale hair was absentmindedly pointing a finger at the rose bushes and encasing each flower in ice. He saw her gaping and grinned, waving up at her. Fiona flushed and ducked out of sight. She opened the door and walked into the hallway, only to be almost run over by a boy on a skateboard.  
  
"Whoa, /coming/ through!" he yelped, clattering down the stairs.  
  
Shaking her head, Fiona took the same path.  
  
"Hey," said a voice, thickly accented, "New here?"  
  
"Yeah," Fiona said, somewhat tired of explaining the fact. "Fiona Crowley, now known as Predator." She turned to find a Goth girl watching her with a slight smirk.  
  
"Predator?" the girl asked.  
  
"It was Kitty's idea."  
  
"Ah. That'd explain it," the girl said, making a face. Apparently there was no friendship lost between them. "Ah'm Rogue," the girl said, "And welcome to the X-Geeks." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Fiona about to answer.  
  
Sighing, Fiona headed down the stairs as well – so far, it seemed as though the Professor and Storm were the only sane people in the building. 


	4. Here a While

DISCLAIMER!!! X-Men belongs to Marvel and X-Men Evolution to the WB. I own only Dan and Fiona, and I ask you kindly not to steal them. x_X;;; A warning. This fic is RATED R for a reason. Contained within (in no particular order) are language, violence, and drugs. You shouldn't be reading this if you're under 13. You probably shouldn't be reading this if you /are/ 13. Let's just say you've been dually warned.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
i'll be here a while   
ain't going nowhere   
—311, I'll Be Here a While   
  
"This is my room?" Dan asked, eyeing it suspiciously. It was little more than a closer, a bed shoved into the corner, a dresser, and a small desk and chair. The floor was dark wooden slats, spotted with gum. Apparently the previous owner hadn't been too concerned with cleanliness. The walls were painted a dark gray, giving the room a shadowed look.   
  
"Yep," said Todd. "There was a HUGE room that used to belong to the boss lady, but that fucking bitch Tabitha took it. She takes /everything/."   
  
"Tabitha?"   
  
"New recruit. 'Boom Boom.' Don't see why we'd want 'er.... Bloody annoying, she is."   
  
"She seems pretty quiet," Dan said.   
  
"Yeah, that's 'cos she ain't here right now!" Todd sniggered, "Oh, and you'll need to go to school an' all that shit."   
  
Dan made a face. "I haven't gone to school in months."   
  
"I don't like it either, yo, but we ain't got no choice."   
  
"That sucks."   
  
"You'll get used to it," Todd said, then wrinkled his nose. "Take a bath, dude, you stink," he said, leaving.   
  
Lance Alvers, passing by, snorted in disbelief. "Todd Tolensky, calling someone else smelly? The world's ending. The four horsemen should be arriving any minute now!"   
  
Todd called him a nasty word, and /hopped/ down the hall.   
  
Dan shook his head and shut the door.   
  
X   
  
"I have to wear a uniform, too?" Fiona asked, horrified.   
  
"It's not that bad," Kitty said, "It's a rule."   
  
"Do I get choices?"   
  
"Yes. There are designs that you can choose from."   
  
"Can I see?"   
  
Ororo led them into a small alcove room with costumed mannequins behind thick glass plates. "Here you are, Fiona. Take a look."   
  
One costume, with a free chest protector, Kitty pointed out as Rogue's. Fiona had the sneaking suspicion that the Southern girl wouldn't like having her style imitated. Next were two nearly identical outfits, Kitty and Jean's. And then there were the prototypes, some strange, some interesting.... One caught Fiona's eye. It was a black body suit with green lines running the sides, and two green stripes along the ribcage. Green epaulets rested lightly on the shoulders. It came with knee high black boots. "Oooh," said Fiona, "I like this one."   
  
"Good choice!" Kitty said, glancing at Ororo. "Right?"   
  
"Indeed," Ororo said quietly, "It will suit her mutation nicely."   
  
Fiona said nothing, reached out and touched the glass. Comprehension hit her, hard.   
  
She was really a part of the X-Men.   
  
It was a sobering experience.   
  
X   
  
Sheryl Brown walked out of the supermarket, carrying a bag of last-minute items. Dave hadn't wanted her going out so late at night, but she absolutely had to have a jar of pickles – she'd been pregnant for three months, and already she was having cravings.   
  
As she turned the corner, a man in a suit and sunglasses was leaning casually against the door of her car. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand, holding a cigarette that burned a tracer into the night sky. "I think, Mrs. Brown, that you should come with me. We have much to discuss." She would have screamed, but someone clapped a hand over her mouth.   
  
"This way, please," the first man said pleasantly, "We represent a client, whose interests happen to coincide with those of your son."   
  
X   
  
Fiona was too nervous to eat most of the dinner, and instead rearranged it silently on her plate. Across the table sat Bobby Drake, who was shoveling the food down his throat with the enthusiasm that only a fifteen-year-old boy could manage. Glancing up, he swallowed, glanced at Scott Summers, and put his hands together.   
  
She almost gasped when he opened them again, it was a tiny, perfect model in ice of Scott on his knees in a pleading pose, hands reaching upwards towards Jean, who looked the other way. Bobby dropped the statuette hastily when Scott looked suspiciously at him.   
  
"What was that?" Scott asked, as the falling ice tinkled on the floor.   
  
"Um, nothing," Bobby said, winking at Fiona.   
  
She hastily looked down at her plate again.   
  
Kitty, sitting in between Fiona and Kurt, nudged the new X-Man – X-Girl? – in the side. "Don't mind him. He's a /flirt/."   
  
To Fiona's horror, Bobby heard. He snickered, and returned to eating. She sighed – no one said that being part of the X-Men was going to be /easy/.   
  
X   
  
Dan stared at the ceiling, pupils dilated despite the gloom. It was too hot in the bedroom. Too suffocating....   
  
He pushed the covers away and sat up in bed, resting his chin on his knees. He'd opened the windows and turned on the loud creaking fan, but it was still infernally warm inside. He twisted idly at the edge of the blanket, needing the—not needing. Wanting the drug.   
  
He didn't /need/ anything.   
  
Dan hadn't felt like eating dinner, so he'd taken a shower instead, sloughing off the layers and layers of grime that had accumulated on him during his period of vagrancy. Now his skin looked too pink, scrubbed clean.   
  
The lighted numbers of the alarm clock read 3:49. School would start in less than four hours. School. Restless, uncomfortable, and feeling sick, Dan got out of bed and got dressed. On went the Rancid logo shirt, all the necklaces, the red Converse high tops. He opened the door carefully and went downstairs, out to the front of the house.   
  
He tapped his foot restlessly on the ground, shifting with instinctive nervousness. His body felt coiled tightly like a spring, waiting to explode. The tension was unbearable, building steadily, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Fuck!" he yelled, whirling. Reflexively a vine went from his hand, curling around the intruder's neck.   
  
"Gack," someone said. It was a blond girl with a bizarre hairstyle, attempting to smile at him while she was being strangled. "Wstfgl."   
  
"Sorry," he said in a monotone, releasing her. The vine shriveled and died on the porch.   
  
The girl rubbed her neck for a moment, circling it with both hands and a grimace. Then she smiled at him again, slyly. "You're cute when you're mad."   
  
He rolled his eyes at her – he /hated/ being called 'cute.' It brought back memories of a cooing Sheryl shoving him into horrible clothes and simpering. "What are you doing out this early?" he asked instead, ignoring her comment.   
  
"I could ask you the same thing," she said, still grinning at him. "You don't know me, do you?"   
  
"Nope."   
  
"I'm Tabitha Smith." She seemed to expect him to say something, and looked a little annoyed as she continued. "What's your name?"   
  
"Dan Brown."   
  
He looked off onto the horizon silently, willing the girl to go away. She didn't. "Rancid is /such/ a good band," she gushed, "I /love/ Lars! He's so hot!"   
  
Dan rolled his eyes. "And I bet you like Blink 182?"   
  
"How did you know?"   
  
He snorted. "Lucky guess."   
  
Tabitha frowned darkly at him. "You're weird."   
  
"Guess so."   
  
"Why don't you like me?"   
  
"Did I say I didn't like you?" Dan asked placidly.   
  
"You're implying it!" she said, "You're so fucking /cold/."   
  
"No," Dan said, and started laughing. He knew what she meant, of course, but it had a double meaning as well: he was out here in the first place because his room was an oven. Dan was both tired and hyperactive, and the combination made him slightly hysterical. It took him several minutes to calm down, and when he was able to look up without laughing so hard that it made him cry, he saw Tabitha looking at him strangely. "Uh," Dan muttered. "Yeah."   
  
"I'm going to, like, go upstairs now," Tabitha said, backing away from him. "See ya tomorrow, greeny."   
  
"See you," he said.   
  
And waited for morning.   
  
X   
  
Fred frowned at Lance. "Hey, don't eat all of that. Save some for me."   
  
"Dude," Todd said, as he entered the kitchen, "The new kid's fucking weird, yo. He ain't even interested in breakfast."   
  
"Todd, just because you eat every goddamn thing in sight doesn't mean everyone else has to," Lance said, as he ate handfuls of cereal out of the box. He almost bit accidentally into a plastic wrapped toy, but Todd snagged it first.   
  
"Cool!" he exclaimed, "Look, it's a Spiderman sticker!"   
  
"You're such a fucking kid, Todd," Pietro snickered.   
  
"Yep," Todd said cheerfully. "That's me."   
  
X   
  
Dan stretched himself across the seat so that no one would sit next to him. It was a trick that'd always worked in his old school, and the bright green hair and forbidding expression didn't do much to attract the stray freshmen looking for a spare seat.   
  
He rode in silence, flipping through Nietzche, but he was unable to concentrate for long. In the end, he settled for staring out the window in silence, watching Bayville zip by. Time was relative, of course, and it seemed shorter on the school bus, every minute seemed to be compressed into a half. In what seemed like an unearthly short time, they were outside the venerated halls of good ol' Bayville High.   
  
"I can't wait," he muttered to himself, garnering odd looks from some of the other kids walking down the bus' aisle.   
  
Lance pointed him out to Principal Kelly's office, where he was supposed to check in. A girl with a long braid was waiting there, also, round face closed and apprehensive. He nodded absently to her and shoved his hands into his pockets, scowling at the floor.   
  
"Daniel? Fiona? The Principal will see you now," the elderly secretary beamed.   
  
"Okay," Fiona said. Dan eyed her again. She was short and rather stocky for a girl, dressed in beat up blue jeans and a loose white shirt. Entirely unremarkable, she walked ahead of him into the office, holding the door courteously.   
  
"Mr. Brown. Ms. Crowley. Welcome to Bayville," the Principal said. "You, Fiona, are staying at Xavier's Institute?"   
  
"Yes, sir," she said respectfully. Dan stared at the girl with new respect and apprehension: Pietro, Lance, and Todd had told him about the Institute and the X-Geeks. This Fiona Crowley must be a mutant, too. He wondered what her powers could be. She certainly looked normal enough.   
  
"And you, Mr. Brown.... You are not living with your legal guardians, but you have their permission to attend this school?"   
  
Dan blinked at him. How could Sheryl and Dave know where he was, let alone approve of his staying there? Still, if Kelly wasn't going to mention the runaway, Dan wasn't going to bring it up. It'd be a damned stupid thing to do. "Yes," he hazarded.   
  
"Good, good," Kelly said absently, shuffling paper, "Jean Grey, of our welcoming committee, has volunteered to show both of you around the school."   
  
Oh, great, Dan thought. He'd seen the exalted Jean before school, and disliked her already.   
  
X   
  
Oh, great, Fiona thought; someone she actually knew would be showing her around. Jean, cheerful and slim in her usual khakis and smooth red hair, greeted them at the door. "Hi! Welcome to Bayville!" Jean smiled. Fiona, amused, noticed that the punk boy rolled his eyes and snorted softly at the enthusiastic greeting.   
  
"I'm Jean Grey! You'd be Daniel Brown," she asked, smiling again at the boy, "And Fiona, I already know you." Jean winked. The boy shuffled his feet.   
  
"Look, can we dispense with the cute and get on with business?" he asked quietly.   
  
Jean frowned at him. "I don't know what your problem is, but I'm going to ask you to stop."   
  
Daniel subsided and followed behind them, dragging his feet in a shuffle as Jean chattered on about Chemistry hallways and cafeterias. Fiona examined him quietly. He wasn't conventionally handsome, like Bobby, but there was a certain attractiveness to the smirking, pallid features. A green eye swiveled sideways and caught her looking. "What are /you/ looking at, mutie?" he whispered.   
  
Fiona's stomach twisted sickly. "What are you talking about?" she asked quietly.   
  
"I know /all/ about your school," he replied.   
  
She couldn't say anything.   
  
The boy grinned and slapped her hard on the back. "Don't worry. /I'm/ a mutie too. Just not one of those snobby preps at your school. Thought I'd tell you, you know, give you something to think about."   
  
"Shut up, you idiot," Fiona hissed, "Someone could hear."   
  
"And so what if they do?" the boy whispered.   
  
"Jean told me what happened the last time someone tried to do that. The Professor had to wipe a whole stadium's minds."   
  
"Awww, poor Charlie," Daniel said.   
  
Jean turned around, and glared at Daniel. "I'm going to ask you to shut up."   
  
"Or what?"   
  
"Or I will very surreptitiously slam you into that locker."   
  
"Sorry, sorry, your highness."   
  
Fiona breathed a sigh of relief – it was going to be difficult enough fitting into a new school without psychotic green-haired boys making it harder.


	5. Lose the Blanket

DISCLAIMER!!! X-Men belongs to Marvel and X-Men Evolution to the WB. I own only Dan and Fiona, and I ask you kindly not to steal them. x_X;;; A warning. This fic is RATED R for a reason. Contained within (in no particular order) are language, violence, and drugs. You shouldn't be reading this if you're under 13. You probably shouldn't be reading this if you /are/ 13. Let's just say you've been dually warned.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Plagiarized existence exist.... —System of a Down, Devil  
  
The room was designed in such a way that the morning sun acted as a sort of natural alarm clock. The light slanted across her face as she opened her eyes, squinting in the sudden burst of bright. Yawning, Fiona lurched out of bed and into the hall. Kitty, in blue pajamas, was pounding on the bathroom door. "Rahne! Open up, you've had enough time in there! If you don't open the door I'm coming in anyway!" she threatened.  
  
"/All right/," an accented voice yelped, "I'm done, I'm done." The door swung open, right at Kitty's face, though it passed through her as though she wasn't there. Another brown-haired girl emerged from inside. She had a snubbed nose and an impish expression permanently fixed to her face. "You need /patience/," the girl muttered in a Scottish burr.  
  
"What I need," Kitty said placidly, "Is to brush my teeth before school is /over/."  
  
"Suit yourself," Rahne said, and promptly morphed into a wolf, bounding down the stairs as quickly as she could.  
  
"That's Wolfsbane?"  
  
"Yep," said Kitty, "Like, 'scuse me." And the door shut.  
  
X  
  
The man that the little girl had shown him was an expensive dealer but Dan had scraped together enough money to pay. He'd finished most of the speed already, and the pleasant feeling, familiar and welcome, coursed through his body. Smiling, Dan went into the hall and promptly bumped into Lance. "Watch where you're going, man," Lance said, and then peered closer at Dan's eyes.  
  
"You fucking idiot," he exclaimed, "Don't do anything stupid in school, we can't fucking afford to get in that much trouble!"  
  
"Don't worry," Dan said. Now that he'd done it he felt utterly confident of his own abilities. "Don't worry about a thing."  
  
X  
  
Fiona paused in the hall as the green-haired boy stood at his locker. His eyes were unusually glassy, an odd, faraway smile on his face. She nudged Rahne in the ribs. "What's with him?" The girl turned her head, curious, and shrugged.  
  
"Dunno. He looks sick."  
  
"You can't tell?" Ray asked, with infinite patience, from Rahne's other side.  
  
"Tell what?" Fiona asked.  
  
"He's completely fucked up."  
  
"What?" Rahne asked.  
  
Ray bumped his head theatrically against the locker. "Naïveté will get you nowhere, Wolfie."  
  
"Come on, we really don't know," Fiona said, giving him a puppy-dog-eyes look.  
  
"Right," Ray sighed, shaking his head. "I keep forgetting. He's high. Do you understand?"  
  
"Ohhh," Rahne said, looking relieved. "I wasn't sure."  
  
Fiona watched the green head disappear into a classroom, pursing her mouth thoughtfully. "I wonder if he knows how bad that is for him?"  
  
"He knows," Ray said, "He just doesn't give a shit."  
  
X  
  
Dan fidgeted in class, restless. He didn't know what he was doing here. Why was he in school, if he could be somewhere, anywhere else? Bayville was nothing, meant nothing to him. And yet here he was, wasting a high in English, waiting for Ms. Small to be quiet and let them start their homework. In the seat across the table, Pietro was drawing furiously, his hand a blur as he sketched bizarre cartoons. His silver head tilted as he peered closely at the page.  
  
"That looks like Jhonen's stuff," Dan said. "Didn't think you were a /plagiarizer/," he widened his eyes innocently. In English the teacher had just finished a long lecture on the evils of plagiarism.  
  
"Ain't plagiarism if I'm imitating style," Pietro shot back, "No words were stolen in the production of this comic strip."  
  
"Hey!" Tabitha said, in a too-loud stage whisper, "What are you drawing?!"  
  
"Yes," said Ms. Small, appearing suddenly a their table, "What /are/ you drawing?"  
  
"Nothing," Pietro said ingenuously. He'd used his speed to hide the paper in his sleeve, lightning fast.  
  
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Pay attention, Mr. Brown, Mr. Maximoff, Ms. Smith."  
  
"Okay, teach!" said Tabitha, causing Pietro and Dan to wince.  
  
X  
  
Fiona sat outside of Bayville High with some of the younger Institute students, watching them talk and argue. She still felt uncomfortable in such a large group, and had her nose buried inside of a copy of The Truth as a safeguard, though she could still peer over the top in order to see what the others were doing. Rob (he refused to go by Roberto – and 'Bobby' was the Iceman's nickname) was idly skimming back and forth on his skateboard, watching them, and Amara was attempting to figure out how to use a calculator.  
  
"I /hate/ these things!" Amara shrilled, throwing the calculator down the steps.  
  
"Look," Rahne explained patiently, "It's not that hard. You press these buttons, and it graphs."  
  
"It's stupid!" Amara raged, "We never needed these at home!"  
  
"You aren't /at/ home, either," Rob snorted softly, "Honestly, Amara, it's not that—"  
  
Amara raised a hand, sparkling with flame, and aimed it at Rob's head.  
  
"Amara," said Bobby, from his lounging position on the steps, "No powers in school."  
  
She glared at them, and let the fire fade. "He was /asking/ for it."  
  
Fiona ignored the mini-drama, now engrossed in the adventures of William de Worde. "Hey," Bobby said, leaning over and plucking the book away, "Our newest member hasn't given any input on the subject."  
  
She grinned half-heartedly, attempting to take the book back. "I'm not the best person to ask, I hate math with a passion." Bobby kept the book just out of reach, and she sighed, sitting down again.  
  
Several things happened at once.  
  
She felt a light touch at her back, halfway down the braid, someone giggled, and then there was an explosion that knocked her forward. The other X-Men stood up abruptly, but Tabitha Smith was already gone, carried off in a blur by the grudging assistance of Pietro Maximoff. In such a public place it was impossible to do anything, and Fiona picked herself up from the pavement.  
  
Nothing seriously injured, though her shirt was scorched, although.... Frantically, Fiona felt at the back of her head. The braid had been singed off halfway down, where the explosion had happened. Bobby helped her up, though she shook him off with a growl. "I'm /fine/!"  
  
"Fuck," Rob said, glaring after the departing Brotherhood, "They're getting nastier.... You haven't even fought them yet. Well, we'll just beat their asses next time."  
  
Bobby glanced at the remains of Fiona's braid, which lay forlornly on the steps. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Fine," she said, chewing at her lip. It was more than that, however. Where some children had security blankets, Fiona's braid served the same function. When she was little she'd held the braid tightly in one hand whenever she was frightened – it was a crutch, but a comforting one. Now it was gone, in a second's prank. Her face grew darker as she looked at the tangle of hair on the ground. "I'm just angry."  
  
X  
  
Dan sat on the porch railing of the Brotherhood's house, idly flipping through On the Road. He'd read it so many times that he practically had the content memorized, but it was always comforting to see the familiar words line themselves along the page. He was rather glad that the other members of the Brotherhood were out—it wasn't that he didn't like them, it was just that they were /loud/. Very loud. Especially Tabitha. He returned to Kerouac, and—  
  
"Yahoooo!" someone shrieked. The blur of speed that had been Pietro paused and deposited Tabitha onto the porch, and adjusted his shirt.  
  
He sighed, and glared at the girl. "Lose some weight, Boom Boom. I'm not carrying you again."  
  
"Aww, you know you want to, Speedy," she cooed, and went into the house.  
  
The boys watched her exit thoughtfully, then snapped back to attention. "What was that all about?" Dan asked, still looking suspiciously at the door.  
  
"She's starting trouble again," Pietro said, "And it wasn't even with the stupid porcupine, either."  
  
"What now?"  
  
"She put one of those stupid bombs into that new girl's hair."  
  
Dan cast in his mind for a mental picture of the girl in question, and came up blank. "In her /hair/?"  
  
"Well.... In a long braid, anyway."  
  
That brought a face to mind, a round, expressive face capped by a coil of hair that fell to mid-waist. Not a pretty girl, but not particularly ugly, either. "Her?"  
  
"Yeah," Pietro said, "She's lucky /I/ was there or she would've been lynched."  
  
"Would not!" Boom Boom yelled from upstairs.  
  
"Don't listen to her," Pietro said dismissively, "She doesn't know what she's talking about. Anyway, got things to do, things to see, people—X-geeks—to bother – remember we're going to Papa's later. Seeya later, slowpoke." And he was there and gone, leaving Dan to his books.  
  
Now that there was nothing to force him to concentrate on reading On the Road, Dan's attention wandered as he looked off into the distance. The scenery of Bayville was insufferably quaint. There was, in the far distance, the silhouette of New York City, and closer, but still on the horizon, was the skyline of Bayville City. In the immediate sight, though, were the rolling green stretches of suburbs, dotted with white houses and sanitary streets.  
  
Disgusting.  
  
There was always Kerouac. He went back to reading.  
  
X  
  
The scissors made vague clicking noises as they danced along the bottom edge of the half-braid, steady in Rahne's hands. Fiona tried not to wince. "Nothing fancy, please? Just take off the singed bits?" No response from Rahne, who continued snipping blithely without acknowledging the instructions. "Rahne, I'm serious!" Fiona pulled away from the scissors to examine the damage.  
  
Considering that it was all amateur, the changes weren't bad. Straight brown hair hung evenly below the shoulders. Fiona had never been interested in looks, and usually just left the braid on for the entire week. As a result, Fiona's head usually resembled a small bird's nest. Her entire face looked different now, and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.  
  
"Do you like it?" Rahne asked eagerly, accent tripping lightly over consonants.  
  
Faced with such enthusiasm, there was little Fiona could do except smile uneasily and nod. "Yeah, it's great."  
  
"Great!" Rahne said, "Let's go!" Some of the younger members of the school were going to Papa's, the local pizzeria. Ray was old enough to drive and he had his own car, so they managed to shove quite a few people into his much-abused pickup. Bobby and Fiona sat in the back, jolted to and fro as the truck moved; inside sat Rob, Sam, Rahne, Amara, and Jubilee.  
  
Bobby and Fiona grinned as Ray's somewhat suspect driving skills threw them forward. Bobby yelled cheerful curses into the truck, but Ray and Rob were arguing again, and no one heard. Ray had blown through a red light and almost gotten ticketed for speeding before they'd even gotten to Papa's. "Hey, Crisp!" Bobby exclaimed as he hopped from the truck, "What, did you forget that we were in the back?"  
  
"You'd expect /him/ to remember?" Rob joked, earning a glare from Ray.  
  
Papa's was decorated simply, but in a way that guaranteed appeal to slightly geeky teenagers. Cartoon memorabilia adorned the walls. The alcoves, which opened into rooms for a larger party, were decorated in motifs, such as Superman or Wonderwoman. The X-Men had claimed the Batman room, and piled into the seats.  
  
The waiter had already taken their order when the bell tied to the door tinkled softly. "Oh, wonderful," Rob muttered, "Look who's come to spoil the party."  
  
The group of teens that entered bore the distinctive features of the Brotherhood. Trailing behind was the silent green-haired boy. Pietro led the way, arguing loudly with Tabitha. "No, I do /not/ think you're pretty. Stop asking!"  
  
"But /Speedy/! I'm so lovely, how can you NOT like me?"  
  
"Besides, Pietro thinks he's prettier than you," Todd snickered.  
  
Lance and Fred guffawed as Pietro glared at them, words tumbling over each other in their eagerness to escape. "You think that's funny, eh? You think you're a comedian, don't you? Regular Michael Palin!"  
  
"Ah," Bobby said, "You okay, Fiona?"  
  
"I'm fine," she said, puzzled, "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Well.... I just thought.... You know...."  
  
Fiona quirked her mouth into an approximation of a grin. "I can deal. Really. I'm not a baby, Bobby."  
  
"Why would you automatically assume she'd be scared?" Amara demanded.  
  
Sam nudged the girl in the ribs. "You have to be nice to people, too."  
  
"So look who it is," Lance called from across the room, "The X-Geeks."  
  
"That's really getting old, Alvers," Rob yelled back, "But you guys are too fucking stupid to think up a new insult."  
  
"It's not old, it's a classic," Pietro retorted.  
  
"Leave us," Amara said in a commanding voice.  
  
"We've got as much of a right to be here as you, bitch!" Fred growled.  
  
Affronted, Amara leaped to her feet—surprisingly, Rob was the one who restrained her, even though his face was flushed red in anger. "Shh, irmã pequena," he muttered, "We can't start anything here."  
  
Lance walked up to their table, eyes narrowed. "Why is it that every time we try to have a good time, you idiots ruin it?"  
  
"Same thing goes for you," Bobby said.  
  
Fiona frowned and edged off to the side – if this erupted into a fight, she couldn't use her powers – not yet. She had no change of clothes. All she could do was wait, nervously.  
  
Tension in the air, choking her lungs. She could /smell/ it—  
  
Oh /no/. 


	6. Confused Youth

She's always askin' him what he wants to do  
How many times does he have to say, he's fucking confused?  
He'd run away but they're nowhere else to run  
Why do they try to conform us? We just wanna have fun....  
-Anti-Flag, Confused Youth  
  
  
She could feel her bones melting and running together, shifting form. There was no unpleasant crunch, but the hot-cold sensation made her bite her lip in an attempt to keep from screaming. Not now! /Not now!/ she thought frantically. There were exclamations of shock from the surrounded kids, and Bobby and Rahne moved in front of her, hiding the transformed body from the crowd.  
  
Turning her head to the side, Fiona attempted to see the changes that had been forced upon her body. Behind her twitched a bushy tail, reddish brown, tipped with white. A pained yip escaped her mouth as she scampered under the table, trying to escape the sight of the other pizza shop patrons. What if they saw her? Panicking, Fiona attempted to fit her now-smaller frame underneath the seat of the booth. A hand reached in towards her, and she snarled and snapped at it.  
  
"Whoa!" said a voice, "Calm down, it's just me."  
  
Bobby. Fiona allowed herself to be picked up and hidden beneath Bobby's jacket, tucked close to his stomach. "You look like you're pregnant, Drake," Ray snorted.  
  
"Don't draw attention to it!" Bobby snapped.  
  
Fiona thought that if she'd been human, she'd be blushing a painful red. As he breathed, she could feel his stomach moving up and down, tense and nervous. In fox form, however, she couldn't do anything except huddle close and attempt not to be seen as Bobby zipped up his jacket. The Brotherhood snickered at them, except for the green-haired boy, who just stood there and watched.  
  
"You should train your members better, shouldn't you?" Pietro snickered, "That's like the mutant equivalent of pissing your pants."  
  
"Thank you, Pietro, for that like, lovely imagery," Kitty snapped, as she entered the pizza parlor with the older X-Men.  
  
"I think," Scott said, "That you should leave."  
  
The Brotherhood were clearly outnumbered, but they did not leave, just moved to another room to order their pizza.  
  
Kitty glanced at Bobby, who was holding his hands beneath the round shape under the jacket, and raised an eyebrow. "Is there something you haven't told us, Bobby?" she asked, and grinned.  
  
"Yeah, very funny," he grumbled, "Look, we're going back to the Institute.... We can't stay here with Fiona like this."  
  
She sighed (mentally, at least - the fox's body was only capable of emitting short bursts of breath), and shifted her weight.  
  
Being a mutant really sucked sometimes.  
  
X  
  
Lance wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, ambling out of the pizzeria. The other Brotherhood members were still there, arguing over the last few pieces of the pie - keeping Fred fed was the biggest drain on their finances. He kicked idly at a rock, sighing to himself. His attempt to join the X-Men was as disastrous as Tabitha had predicted, now he was back antagonizing his old enemies.  
  
A hand caught his arm.  
  
"Lance?"  
  
"Kitty, what are you doing?"  
  
"Why do you hang out with them, anyway, Lance? You could have stayed. You could have been a part of us."  
  
"You know something, Kitty?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"They understand me. The understand me and you don't."  
  
"So do we - it was just, like, a misunderstanding-"  
  
Lance laughed hollowly, and snorted softly. "Right. Go take care of the fox girl, with the rest of the wonderful, wonderful X-Men. Leave me alone."  
  
"Fine," Kitty said, glaring, "I will."  
  
X  
  
Bobby walked home quickly, shaking his head. How could Fiona go out if she had problems like this? The warm mass of fur and hair that was his friend squirmed nervously under his shirt as he went, feet moving as fast as humanly possible. For all that, he was still earning several strange looks. He could feel the fox shrinking apprehensively away from him.  
  
"Shh," he muttered, "We'll be home soon, okay? Don't panic, or I might drop you." No movement, except shallow breathing.  
  
X  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," Fiona said, safely wrapped in a gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans, "I don't know why I lost control like that.... I.... I'm a liability, aren't I?" She chewed nervously at her lip.  
  
"No, Fiona," Charles Xavier said, shaking his head as he turned the wheelchair around to face her. "Every mutant must learn to control their abilities. You will as well, eventually."  
  
"But the others don't have /any/ problem," Fiona said, "I can't go to school if I just randomly turn into an animal every time I get scared!"  
  
"Patience," he said, "Is the key. You will learn. There will be work involved. But you will learn."  
  
"I just don't /know/, Professor," she said, trailing her foot on the ground. "I'm always so scared that I'm going to lose it, and then I do."  
  
"Fear is only another thing you must conquer. It gets easier as you go."  
  
"Okay," Fiona said, but in her heart, she knew that he was wrong.  
  
X  
  
"You know," Pietro said, his foot a blur as it tapped nervously up and down; pent up energy; "We should put someone in that school."  
  
"Already tried that," Lance said, "It didn't work, remember?"  
  
Pietro made a disgusted face. "Not like /that/. I'm not asking anyone here to-" Here, his face turned angelic, as he looked up at the ceiling, "-turn to the side of good, forsaking evil in order to live a decent, upstanding existence-"  
  
"Okay, okay, we get the picture, yo," Todd interrupted, rolling his eyes as he flicked his tongue out, idly catching a bug.  
  
"-I'm just suggesting that we get someone to live there. And /stay/ there. You know, like a secret agent," Pietro finished up, ignoring Todd's addition to his reasoning.  
  
"Why?" asked Fred, always a little slow on the uptake.  
  
"Well, obviously, we'd get inside information," Pietro said.  
  
".... Even though we don't need it, now that Mystique's gone."  
  
"Know thy enemy as you know yourself," Dan said.  
  
"Thank you, Zen-boy," Tabitha said sarcastically.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"They have a point," Lance said.  
  
"But who can we plant?" Fred asked, "They wouldn't trust any of /us/. Especially Tabby."  
  
"Tabby?" Pietro asked, raising an amused eyebrow.  
  
"Shut up," Fred muttered defensively.  
  
Lance was beginning to see the line of analysis. "But they /don't/ know Dan."  
  
"Exactly," Pietro said, smug, "Especially if we seem to have a falling out with him...."  
  
"Perfect!" said Tabitha, earning a glare from Pietro.  
  
"So how's that sound, Dan?"  
  
"Why not?" he replied.  
  
"We'll do it tomorrow, then."  
  
Fred grunted. "Wait, I don't get it."  
  
X  
  
Fiona and Rahne were heading to Algebra class when loud noises erupted at the end of the hallway. They sped up in order to see what was going on, and found teachers struggling to pull two boys, both shouting curses at each other, apart. To her surprise, Fiona noted that one of them was the green-haired boy, Dan. The other was Pietro. The two glared at each other.  
  
"Fuck you," Pietro snarled, fighting free of the teacher's restraining arms. "We don't fucking need you, you little rat-"  
  
"You think I fucking care?" Dan inquired grimly.  
  
"Mr. Brown! Mr. Maximoff! That is /quite/ enough from you!" Ms. Small exclaimed, stepping between them. "More than enough! Detentions for both of you! Suspensions, if I can help it! I never want to see a display like this again!"  
  
The two shuffled sullenly in place. Rahne blinked, and looked sideways at Fiona. "This is the first time any Brotherhood member's really gotten into a fight with each other... Look! Dan has a black eye!"  
  
"That looks painful," Fiona agreed, and glanced at Rahne. "So why do you think they were fighting?"  
  
"It's beyond me," Rahne shrugged, "Most of them are pretty nasty. Or just gross," she finished, as Todd Tolensky, thinking no one was watching, pulled a piece of chocolate from the trashcan and popped it into his mouth.  
  
Fiona went through the rest of the day in an absentminded daze, mind preoccupied by the events of the previous afternoon, as well as what had happened that morning. She was walking down the stairs of the school when someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Fiona?" Startled, she turned, starting to feel a change coming on. She ruthlessly suppressed the urge to change, and succeeded. She remained human, and looked up at the boy who had approached her.  
  
"Daniel?"  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked dubiously, "You looked like you were going to be sick, for a minute."  
  
"I - I'm fine," she said. "What do you want?"  
  
"Well..." he trailed off, looking sheepish and rather nervous.  
  
"I'm running late," she reminded him.  
  
He shrugged. "Um, well, this is rather awkward-"  
  
"Daniel Brown, just tell me, please."  
  
"Could I stay at the Institute?" he asked in a rush of words.  
  
".../What/?"  
  
"It's not that odd of a request," he said peevishly. "I can't go back to the Brotherhood's home. Maximoff said they don't need members who don't obey orders."  
  
"Hm. 'Who don't obey orders'?" she wanted to know.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," Dan said, "Let's just say I didn't want to be an accessory to a crime."  
  
His face was sincere enough, but Fiona thought sardonically that he was a very good actor. From what she knew of him, Dan didn't hesitate to step onto the wrong side of the law. "Well, I'm not in charge of admissions," she said. "You'll have to talk to the Professor."  
  
"I'll walk you home," he offered, magnanimous.  
  
"Thanks..."  
  
"Think nothing of it, Predator."  
  
X  
  
"Professor, you've /got/ to be kidding!" Scott exclaimed, obviously incensed. He looked at the skinny teenager, Thorn, and glared. Thorn glared back wordless defiance, as he stood before Xavier. "This is the second Brotherhood member that's tried this ploy! You saw how Alvers turned out!"  
  
"Yes, Scott," the Professor said, calmly, "But he left because he was not accepted here. We will not make the same mistake twice."  
  
Scott opened his mouth once, twice, but saw that it was useless to argue with Xavier. "At least look in his thoughts to make sure he's sincere."  
  
"Hell no," Thorn growled, "I don't let anybody fuck with my head."  
  
"Watch yer language," Logan replied, in an equally gravelly tone.  
  
"That," Xavier said, "Is not ethical."  
  
Scott started to say, "Since when have you cared about ethics?" but stopped. Everyone was on edge and jumpy, particularly Thorn. "But Professor," he said instead, "Thorn's spent time with them. What if he's corrupted already?"  
  
"Scott," Xavier said warningly, "He is a part of the team. It's Daniel, now."  
  
Scott clenched his teeth and stalked out of the room, followed by Jean, who threw a worried glance over her shoulder at Professor Xavier.   
  
X  
  
"I can't believe it, Jean!" Scott raged, "He's blinding himself to the possibilities!"  
  
"Scott," Jean said, pursing her lips, "You should at least give the boy a chance."  
  
"'Boy'?" Scott laughed, "He's been on the streets. Everyone knows he's almost constantly on drugs-"  
  
"So maybe," Jean said warningly, "He wants to improve himself. Scott, you can't be so close minded."  
  
"I'm sorry, Jean, but if no one else is going to be suspicious, then /I/ am! Will you-"  
  
She rubbed her temples in despair. "No, Scott, for the last time, I will /not/ look into his mind! The Professor wasn't particularly happy when I did that to Kitty. And you saw how Dan reacted when you suggested..."  
  
"I know, I know," Scott finished, "But there's something not right about this." 


	7. Chemical Emotions

DISCLAIMER!!! X-Men belongs to Marvel and X-Men Evolution to the WB. I own only Dan and Fiona, and I ask you kindly not to steal them. x_X;;; A warning. This fic is RATED R for a reason. Contained within (in no particular order) are language, violence, and drugs. You shouldn't be reading this if you're under 13. You probably shouldn't be reading this if you /are/ 13. Let's just say you've been dually warned.  
  
It seems so frightening  
Time passes like lightning  
Before you know it you're struck down  
I always waste my time on my chemical emotions  
It keeps my head spinning around  
And waste away.  
-Green Day, Android  
  
"Don't sweat it, man," Evan told Dan as they walked through the hallways of the Institute, later that night, "Scott's a nice guy when you get to know him."  
  
"He, uh, didn't sound like it," Dan said, holding his backpack, which contained his meager possessions in it, over his shoulders.  
  
"He's just a bit, a bit suspicious. Sometimes. Okay. All the time," Evan said, and opened a door. "But it's just because... he cares about the team."  
  
"Team," Dan repeated.  
  
"Uh, that's what it's called."  
  
"No offense but that's, um, kind of gay."  
  
Evan rolled his eyes. "Welcome to the Xavier Institute, my friend."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Well, this will be your cell for the duration of your stay," Evan said, glancing into the room, "Breakfast's at seven, don't go into the danger room unless someone else knows you're there, other than that the house rules are basically the same as anywhere else."  
  
"Sooo..." Dan said, dropping his bag on the chair, "No wild parties, no sex, no drugs?"  
  
Evan coughed into his hand. "Wild parties in the Xavier Institute are sort of like... like... some sort of unlikely thing."  
  
"Some sort of unlikely thing?"  
  
"Hey, witty conversation isn't my strong point, all right?" Evan said. "That's Rogue's job."  
  
"Right," Dan said, "I'll remember that, if I've a desire to mince words."  
  
"Er, bad idea," Evan said, shaking his head and moving his hands emphatically, "Unless you want to wake up with a headache."  
  
"...Right. I see I've got a lot to learn about this place."  
  
"Don't worry, you'll fit in soon," Evan said, and nodded. "If you need anything, yell. Don't yodel. Iceman tried that, as a joke, at three o'clock in the morning, and I think Logan was ready to impale him to the walls." He snickered at the memory.  
  
Dan watched him go and then wandered over the bed. He flopped onto it, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. The entire place was certainly nicer than anything the Brotherhood had - their home had resembled a pesthole. It didn't seem right, though. Too nice. The bed was too soft, the room too plush, and it was too warm. He went over to the window and opened it, letting the chilly night air stream into the place.  
  
Would he be able to keep up the charade? There were two telepaths, at least, in the building. They'd be sure to find him out, there was no way he'd be able to stay hidden. The plan was not going to work, at all. It was crazy. It was insane. He needed the speed, to calm his nerves. No, not to calm them, but to make his mind work better, at the moment he was mush-brained and confused. He felt nauseous and sick, and nervous. Jittery. He clenched his fists together. He needed it.  
  
There had been a time when he hadn't needed anything.  
  
Maybe there hadn't. People always needed something, and he needed-  
  
No.  
  
He wasn't an addict.  
  
Dan drew a deep breath and instead turned his attention to the small potted plant on the windowsill, the only thing there to distract him.  
  
He touched the leaves gently, almost reverently. It felt sick, to him, dying slowly in its prison of dry soil and plastic tub. Dan let his mind drift free, joining with the plant's slow, steady consciousness. It was a green feeling, an entity that had no need for hurry, no worries except moving towards the sun. His breath slowed down as he touched the plant, running his fingers lightly over the stems and leaves. There was a feeling of joy from the spider plant, of sudden health and strength.  
  
He gasped and broke free, rubbing his tingling palms together. The spider plant, which had until now looked sickly and yellow, was a healthy green, the leaves arching upwards gracefully. Several new baby plants had sprouted from the edges, hanging down towards the ground with their tiny roots dangling free in the air. Dan blinked and looked from his hands to the plant and back again.  
  
Odd. He knew that plants grew better around him, stronger, or in the dark - in the case of the pot - but this was different. He had made the plant healthy, healed it. And in return it had calmed his nerves - for a moment, at least, he could feel the old anxiety returning with his quickened breath. It seemed, though, it seemed - not as strong.  
  
But for the time, that tiny sliver of time, he had felt at peace. A smile.  
  
Exhausted, Dan staggered to the bed and flopped onto it, and promptly fell asleep.  
  
Fiona, walking by the room later, looked in for a moment and the closed the door, out of respect for his privacy. Absently she went to her own dormitory, thinking carefully over the events of the day before. Things were happening too quickly, going too fast for her liking. It seemed like too little time since she had been here, hardly any space passing between the moments.  
  
And now they had a new recruit, with problems of his own. Fiona's hand went unconsciously to her neck, rubbing the bare skin there revealed by lack of braid. That was another change, a physical one, and one she wished had never happened. Too many changes in her life, starting with the accident the other day. When would she learn to control it? What if the Professor was wrong?  
  
Plagued by self doubt, she went into her room again, smirking silently. Once she had promised herself she would not give in to teenage angst, and now look what she was thinking. Fiona, amused at the shifting fortunes, flopped down onto her bed and stared at the floor. A sudden thought hit her with the force of an anvil. What if she could /try/ to change? Attempt to bring about the switch, and explore in that form, instead of it being brought on by fear?  
  
Fiona closed the door so that it was mostly shut, with a small opening to squeeze through, then went to the window, opened the screen, and closed the blinds over it. She took off first her shirt, and then pants and underwear. Belatedly she remembered her socks, and shucked those, too. Most clothes, worn during the mutation, were destroyed completely, and she liked her pajamas. Fiona sat down on the bed, and concentrated.  
  
She thought of cats, dark in the shadows, death on velvet paws and silken skins. Small masters of the night, unnoticed and uncaring of any beside themselves. She thought of cats, focused on them, thought of what it would like to be one.  
  
And the change began, the now familiar chill and burn of her bones reconfiguring themselves. It was not painful, and soon, it would cease even to be strange and frightening. Fiona shuddered nonetheless, nervous that this perhaps was not the best idea. Still - it was too late now.   
  
Smell, and a heightened sense of sight. Although it was dark in the room and the light was dim, she could see easily the outlines of everything there, from the corner of the bed (which now seemed so much higher) to the bureau and the door. She slunk towards the sliver of light evident there, marveling at how well her body balanced. It was not like being a human, where you felt like you could fall or trip at any moment, the cat-body was smooth, assured.  
  
Fiona went towards the door, admiring the lack of noise she made, and slipped into the hallway. The perspective was completely different, and at first she was disconcerted and confused. Gradually, however, the cat's senses took over and Fiona was able to bound down the stairs easily enough. Her hearing was enhanced, as well, and the sounds of the mice rustling in the walls were uncomfortably appealing. Ignore them, she thought.  
  
There was a small table with a mirror above it in the hall. She bunched her leg muscles together and leaped up on top of the smooth surface, examining herself in the mirror. Fiona attempted to laugh at what she saw, although the result had no sound and was expressed in a forward twitch of her whiskers. The creature reflected in the mirror was a small gray tabby cat, with golden eyes and an oddly focused expression. Fiona lifted up her hand, and the cat in the mirror raised a paw.  
  
Footsteps! Human-smell! Someone was walking past the hallway, trying to be quiet. She turned, frightened, and saw the lanky frame of Daniel Brown, their newest addition. His face was a ghastly white in the low lights, and he looked as though he was going to be sick. She hunched against the wall, but he noticed her, frowning.  
  
"I didn't know they had cats... Here, kitty," he said, and went over to pick her up.  
  
Humiliation. Fiona struggled against the imprisoning hands, but it was too late. She was caught firmly against his chest. "You can keep me company," he whispered, as he walked down the stairs. Fiona resigned herself to her fate - obviously Dan had no idea who she was, or even that she was not, in reality, a cat. Still... It was embarrassing, and somehow different than when Bobby had hidden her.  
  
He was too skinny, unhealthily so, and beneath the t-shirt he was wearing, his skin was warm, as though from a fever. Fiona made one last ditch attempt to escape. "You don't like me, cat?" Dan asked, sounding sad. He'd never seemed to care about whether or not humans liked him... Suddenly his arms loosened and she shot to the ground, turning her face away. If she were her normal self, she'd be blushing right now, but as a cat, she merely groomed her face and body frantically.  
  
The boy laughed hollowly. "You don't like me, then. It's okay. You can go... Hunt mice or something."  
  
Curious, though, she followed him as he walked towards the kitchen, letting himself out through the side door. "The air's nicer outside," he told her, walking to the edge of the porch and hopping over the low stone wall to sit on the grass next to it, "Opening the window's not any better."  
  
She hopped easily onto the wall and onto the grass, as well, watching him closely. The boy hunched his legs up to his chest, clutching them tightly, chin resting on his knees. "I'm going crazy," he said flatly, "I can't keep up like this. There's no way." His arms went out, fingers scrabbling at the ground, coming up with a rock that he threw violently away, as far as he could. "Look at me," he said bitterly, "I'm even talking to a cat."  
  
Fiona watched all this in amazement, surprised that the self-assured Dan was such a... mess. She couldn't just go back to her dorm room, after seeing that, and the cat-body took over, and did the only thing it knew in order to make someone feel better. She took several steps forward, and twined herself around his legs, tail twitching as her head rubbed his shin. I am so going to regret this later, Fiona thought, but persevered. It was difficult to see anyone looking that - miserable.  
  
The ghost of a smile flickered over his mouth. "Thanks, cat," he whispered, scratching her behind the ears, and then running a finger over her cheek, wrinkling the whiskers.  
  
Whoa. The very pleasurable feeling made her stretch her body out luxuriously, purring. Fiona, beet red underneath the fur, thought that she would never be able to touch a cat behind the ears again, or rub her fingers along the side of its face - not if the cat was actually feeling like /this/. Suddenly shy, she pulled away, and the boy smiled at her. "Thanks, cat," he repeated, and stared morosely out at the sky, where the moon ruled the kingdom above.  
  
He was silent for a long time, and made no move to touch her - to touch the cat. After a while, Fiona thought that his face looked calmer, and then she realized that he had fallen asleep. Should she wake him up, or leave him to sleep there? As she tried to decide what to do, she heard, with the enhanced cat-ears, someone walking along the hallway, a floor up. What if they went into her room--?  
  
Oh, god! Fiona ran towards the door, but it was shut. Shit, Dan must have let it swing closed after he went out... Now how was she going to get in? There was no pet door, because Rahne was able to morph without losing her clothes. She stalked across the ground to the other side of the house, where her room was located - maybe she could climb the tree and then squeeze in through the window? It was worth a try, and she didn't have a better idea.  
  
Later, she wondered how she managed to climb up the tree and squeeze through the window. The footsteps were getting closer - oh shit. She'd left her door open... Leaping onto the bed, Fiona burrowed beneath the blanket. Concentrate, Fiona. She frantically attempted to recall human things: clothes, computer, school, the other X-Men. The change took, held, and she felt herself stretching, as though someone were pulling her arms and legs in completely different directions. "Fiona?" someone whispered.  
  
She clutched the blanket around herself (cursing, because it didn't sound like a teenager) and whispered back, "Who is it?"  
  
"It's Storm," the woman said, poking her head into the room. "Is everything all right? I wasn't sure if you were here, at first."  
  
"N-no," Fiona said, laughing nervously, "I was just asleep."  
  
Storm raised an eyebrow, and glanced at the window. "It's, ah, rather cold to be sleeping in here with no pajamas," the woman said, as tactfully as she could, and withdrew. "Don't stay up much later, there's a practice session tomorrow."  
  
Fiona breathed a sigh of relief, and was glad that, in the dim light, Storm couldn't see the furious blush that had flooded her face.  
  
X  
  
"Uh, Scott? We have a slight problem."  
  
Scott rolled out of bed and groped for his glasses. When he opened them, he saw that Evan Daniels was standing in the doorway of his room, looking worried. "What now, Evan?" Scott asked, rubbing his temples. It couldn't be too horrible, or Evan would have gone to the Professor, but it obviously wasn't something that the skater could deal with by himself. "Sorry, I'm tired. I meant to say, what is it, Evan?"  
  
"You remember Brown, right?"  
  
"The new recruit that I /warned/ the Professor about? What's he done?"  
  
"It's not that he's... Done anything. We just can't find him. He's not in his room."  
  
Scott stood up and pulled a pair of khakis on over his boxers, shaking his head. "I knew it!" he crowed triumphantly, "I knew that kid was trouble. He's probably telling the Brotherhood all about the layout of the mansion! Unless... He's still here? Should we look for him?"  
  
"Okay," Evan said. As Scott struggled into his sweater, Evan poked his head outside of the door to find another person to help. He wasn't particularly thrilled about looking for Dan, it was early and he was hungry. Jean passed by and he snagged her by the arm, earning an expression with eyes rolled towards the heavens. "Jean?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Have you seen Dan anywhere around?"  
  
"Uh, no." She gave him a look that said, go away, little man.  
  
Maybe, Evan pondered, her problems stemmed from the fact that she was named 'Jean.' It was enough to put anyone in a bad mood. "Could you maybe... Look for him?"  
  
"Fine, fine," she sighed elegantly, and closed her eyes, concentrating. "He's asleep next to the porch outside the kitchen."  
  
"On the ground?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How'd he get there?"  
  
"Don't ask me, I don't know. But if you're looking, I've found him. And Evan?" Jean said plaintively.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Will you let go of my arm?"  
  
"Oh, sorry." He let go, just as Scott skidded out of the room, almost crashing into his two fellow students. "Don't bother, Scott, Jean found him."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Sleeping next to the porch."  
  
"On the ground?"  
  
"That's exactly what I said."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"So I guess he isn't spying, then."  
  
"I guess not."  
  
Evan snickered, because Scott looked almost disappointed.  
  
X  
  
Someone poked him in the stomach with a booted foot. Instinctively he rolled into a sitting position and kicked out with one foot, connected with flesh and bone, heard a voice grunt in annoyance, and then cursed loudly as the same hauled him up by the collar of the shirt and pinned him to the wall. For the first time, Dan opened his eyes wider and stared into the decidedly un-cheerful face of Logan. The man snarled at him. "I was going to tell yeh that breakfast's bein' served. But now, I think I'll teach yeh a lesson." His nose wrinkled as he smiled unpleasantly.  
  
"A lesson? I wasn't doing anything wrong," Dan insisted, feet just brushing the ground.  
  
"Sleeping outside on the ground? You worried the Professor. And kicking me in the shins don't do much teh get yeh in my good graces."  
  
"Sorry," Dan apologized insincerely. "I won't do it again."  
  
"Yeh wanna tell me what the hell yer doin' out here?"  
  
"I couldn't sleep in my room. It was too comfortable." Was it his imagination, or did the Wolverine almost crack a smile? He must have imagined it. "I came out here and so did the cat."  
  
"The cat?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. The gray one. Will you put me down now?"  
  
"We don't have a cat," Logan said, as he released Dan's collar.  
  
Dan shrugged, yawning widely and brushing grass off of his shirt. There were going to be green stains on it, but that was okay. Even the dead liquid residue of the ground comforted him, made him feel at ease. "Well, there was definitely a cat last night."  
  
"Must've been a stray. Now hurry an' eat yer breakfast, you've all got a long day ahead o' yer."  
  
"Goody." 


	8. Interlude I

DISCLAIMER!!! X-Men belongs to Marvel and X-Men Evolution to the WB. I own only Dan and Fiona, and I ask you kindly not to steal them. x_X;;; A warning. This fic is RATED R for a reason. Contained within (in no particular order) are language, violence, and drugs. You shouldn't be reading this if you're under 13. You probably shouldn't be reading this if you /are/ 13. Let's just say you've been dually warned.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He liked London almost as much as St. Petersburg, though he still had a fierce loyalty to the city of his birth. To be sure, the city on the swamp had its own problems, but it had a grandeur and a beauty completely unique to anywhere else in the world. He had not liked France at all, and Vanya Nikitin was fairly sure that the French had not liked him either. He'd certainly had poor luck before he'd caught the ship across the Pas de Calais.  
  
Also, there had not been a Gemma in St. Petersburg, and there was one in London. Surprising what a difference she made. Vanya rolled over onto his side, propping his head on his hand in order to examine her better. She had a fascinating face, to be sure, a face that belonged to all ethnicities and belonged to none. Her eyes were closed, dark eyelashes pooled on dusky features. She smiled in her sleep.  
  
Vanya pulled the blanket away from him and slid out of bed, padding lightly into the annex that served him as a kitchen. He rented what was technically a one-room utility, but there was a small alcove off of the main room. It had a sink, electric oven, and a miniature refrigerator he'd installed himself. He took a dingy cup from the top of the fridge, filled it with lukewarm coffee from the pot, and went back into the main room.  
  
He curled in a chair, completely un-self conscious of his nudity, and flipped on the telly, changing channels until he found the news program. The lights were off and the TV cast a yellow-green glare on the room. "Vanya?" a sleepy voice murmured from the bed.  
  
He glanced at the corner, furthest from the door, where the blankets pooled over her. "Still here, love," he said, faint accent and the false endearment easy on his lips. Although Gemma was intelligent enough, her company for more than necessary grated on the nerves. She was... self-absorbed to the point of narcissism, with some good reason, at least - and enough so that Vanya had no qualms about using her. It actually amused him to think of her reaction when he moved on, probably nothing like that had ever happened to her before.  
  
He finished the rest of his coffee, and listened to the dry BBC announcer talking about some disappearances of teenagers from the slums, homeless kids who were never seen again. Probably some sick fuck pedophile taking them away. He was quite glad that he'd never lived on the streets like that, when he was younger - Egor Nikitovich Nikitin was affluent enough to support a wife and several - seven - children besides. The rest of the Nikitin clan, for all he knew, was still in St. Petersburg.  
  
"Vanya..."  
  
"Coming, Gems." Family problems could wait, Vanya thought to himself, as he crossed the room to the bed. At the moment there were more important things to occupy his attention, such as the interesting way that the light caught in Gemma's hair and on her body as she pulled the cover away.  
  
X  
  
Later, when Vanya woke up, Gemma had let herself out. This did not bother him, for when she stayed she expected cosseting. Breakfast in bed, and Vanya didn't go in for any sort of romantic shit. She had left him a note, which she also did sometimes, and he resolved to read it later, when he wasn't so tired. Vanya stretched his arms out and yawned, feeling quite satisfied with himself and the world in general. Still naked, he stood and walked into the alcove for breakfast - he was suddenly very, very hungry.  
  
The Wheatabix without milk was dry but he was used to simpler fair than that, when he'd hitchhiked over the continent on his bizarre pilgrimage to the birthplace of punk, he'd often eaten only Saltine crackers, the entire day. Munching thoughtfully, Ivan Egorovich Nikitin pondered what he was going to accomplish that day. That afternoon, really - the clock on top of the refrigerator said 12:37.  
  
As he finished the last of his breakfast Vanya stood and went to search for his pants amid the array of dirty clothing tumbled on the floor. As he dressed, Vanya fished in the pants pockets, looking for his wallet. Inside were two hundred pounds, and that was all the money he owned. Perhaps - perhaps, after perusing London, he'd plan another job... It didn't do any good to be low on money, even when he was planning to cut the expense of Gemma.  
  
Smiling absently to himself, he went to the window and threw the blinds open, letting the afternoon sun stream in on him, warming his skin. Vanya looked over the busy tableau of London on Saturday, the tiny people walking on the street below him. As he watched he wondered how many of them had a gift, how many of them even realized it, or viewed what they had as such.  
  
He could see how with a lack of control such a thing could be seen as a curse, something harmful or even evil. Vanya had always controlled his own life, as he controlled the gift. It wasn't difficult, and if he sometimes had headaches after using it for too long, well, that was a necessary side effect.  
  
Vanya went down the stairs and into the streets, as always, amused by the interplay of light and sounds. The newspaper vendor was in front of the flats, as usual, desperately hawking his wares. Vanya paused as a title caught his eyes, "DOCUMENTED CASE OF HUMAN COMBUSTION." It was not a disreputable title, either - the Times of London was quite reliable. Vanya paid the man his price and walked off, absorbed in the strange story.  
  
Christine MacReedy, 25, had been at a pub when suddenly, according to witnesses, she had screamed and burst into hot flames. She had burnt to ashes before their eyes, before they were able to help her. The flames were hot and oddly enough half of her legs and her boots were still intact, and the paper showed a black and white photo of MacReedy's shoes, with a tiny peep of flesh above them, scarred and cauterized. She had been a nonsmoker and neither she nor the man she'd been with had carried matches.  
  
Vanya read all of this with a sense of strong bemusement, and the unshakable feeling that he knew what had happened to Christine MacReedy. It tied in, shockingly enough, with what he'd been thinking of only moments before, and cemented his resolve to wrestle the gift under control. Who knew? Maybe one day Vanya would be the one who disappeared.  
  
One of the red double-decker buses drove by, pausing long enough for him to snag a hold of the end, and climb on. He was headed for the better neighborhoods today, his intentions would have no use in the streets on which he lived. He smiled as the street grew less and less crowded, leaving silent alleys and houses full of prospects. No money today, not yet. Vanya hopped off of the bus and used his gift, going up to one of the homes, better kept than its compatriots. Inside his pockets were the lock picks, which slipped easily into the lock with a click.  
  
Vanya stepped into the home's foyer, closing the door behind him and examining it carefully. The foyer opened into a spacious den, decorated in matching whites and modern chrome. He wasn't after TV's today, though the unit these people had was sleek, black, and probably expensive. No, Vanya needed something small to carry, something in his pockets that he could fence easily, unrecognizable. Any jewelry would be quite welcome.  
  
He went up the stairs and into the hallway, looking for the master bedroom. It, too, was decorated in antiseptic tones of white, with a silver dresser with a mirrored surface. On top of it were a woman's vanities, including a delicate glass jewelry box. Bingo. Vanya smiled and stepped towards it, flipping open the top and examining the contents inside. Diamond earrings - very nice. The necklace of white gold would also fetch a decent sum. He slid them into his pockets--  
  
"Hello, son," a voice said. Startled, Vanya whirled to confront the speaker. It was a middle-aged, thickset man with a buzz cut, though his blond hair was thinning fast, with a small camera-like goggle over one eye, which was attached to a headset. He wore a dark suit and a white tie, and had slick black leather shoes.  
  
"How did you--" Vanya began.  
  
"Find you?" That wasn't what Vanya had meant, but the man kept talking anyway. "We've been tracking you for quite some time now, Ivan Egorovich. This little gadget lets me--"  
  
As he spoke, Vanya was easing the switchblade from his sleeve, ready to attack the man and run off. "Oh, no, it's not like that," the suit laughed, apparently unperturbed by the knife in Vanya's hand, "I'm not here to arrest you. I have a business proposition to make."  
  
Vanya eyed him suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "A business proposition," he repeated.  
  
The man smiled expansively. "Exactly... I think you'll be interested. Do you want to be a small-time thief all your life? But here, and now, is neither the time nor place. Follow me?"  
  
Although he was uneasy about everything in this deal, curiosity got the better of him. He just hoped he'd have better luck than the cat.  
  
X  
  
St. John Allerdyce wished he were anywhere but here. "Here" was the office of the senior editor of the Sydney Courier. Specifically, in front of the desk in the office of the senior editor of the Sydney Courier. Even more specifically, in front of the desk in the office of the senior editor of the Sydney Courier, while the editor, a dark-haired man named Saunders, stared at him over the top of the paper, face a brilliant, enraged purple. "Mr. Allerdyce," the editor said slowly, "Mr. Allerdyce, would you care to explain this?"  
  
"Explain what?" Johnny asked innocently.  
  
"/This/! This... /drivel/." The editor stood up from the chair and walked around the edge of the desk, stood motionless in front of Johnny, jaw quivering with rage. He rolled up the newspaper and brandished it like a sword, snapping it against his hand. "Explain to me /what/ you were thinking when you /wrote/ this?" He waved the newspaper sword in Johnny's face, stopping an inch before his nose.  
  
"Well, sir," Johnny said cheerfully, "It needed to be said."  
  
"Needed to--" Johnny thought the man was going to explode, for one precarious second; he swelled up like a puffer fish without spines. "Needed to--" the editor attempted again, apoplectic with rage.  
  
"Yes, sir," Johnny supplied helpfully, "I did cover the opening of the new theatre, just like you asked."  
  
"You were supposed to write about the details of the building! Write about who was going to the opening night gala!"  
  
"I did, sir. Nothing was factually wrong with my story."  
  
"Factu-- that's not what I wanted! You've written about a corrupt deal between the zoner and the builders! You've written about the shoddy construction and embezzlement!"  
  
"And I did the society list, also. Besides, people have a right to know the truth."  
  
"The paper goes to press in an hour and the junior editor didn't see fit to show me this story until now! Where have you been? What am I going to do?"  
  
"You could give me a more interesting story."  
  
"You little bastard," Saunders hissed, eyes narrowing, "I should fire you right now."  
  
"But you won't."  
  
"And why shouldn't I?"  
  
"First of all, you're understaffed. Second... Well, you're understaffed."  
  
"You have /one/ more chance, Allerdyce, and then I will not hesitate to get rid of you, understaffed or not."  
  
"Yessir. Are you finished now?"  
  
"Get out!"  
  
Johnny grinned, bowed lightly, and sauntered out of the room. In the hallway, one of the college interns smiled shyly at him as she went by. Steven Parsons, sports editor, leaned indolently against the wall outside of Saunders' office and leered appreciatively at her hindquarters as she walked by. Johnny rolled his eyes; the man was an incurable womanizer.  
  
"'Nother row?" Parsons wanted to know.  
  
"Yes," Johnny said, with a deep sense of personal satisfaction.  
  
"This is what - sixth time this week?"  
  
"Seventh," he said happily.  
  
"I hate to say it, Allerdyce, but don't quit your day job."  
  
"Parsons?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"This /is/ my day job."  
  
"Then you, my friend, are royally fucked."  
  
"Thanks for you overwhelming confidence..."  
  
"Enjoy your stay while it lasts, that's my advice to you."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
The junior writers had their own room, the size of one senior writer's office. Six of them were crammed into a space meant for one. Five other men and women, all about his age (twenty years old) lounged on ratty looking sofas and tottering card chairs. The cushions, even ones as manky as those on the green sofa, were hotly contested, and, indeed, were used as signs of prestige. A petunia plant expired quietly in the corner, a failed attempt to liven up the room with some green and purple.  
  
"I'm on probation again," Johnny announced, "So fork it over, Rachel." She had bet him last month that the threat that Saunders was constantly hanging over his head would not happen more than once a week. It had been a stupid bet on her part, so Johnny didn't feel particularly guilty about taking her money, which she forked across the table. "Thanks, Rach." He smiled over her grumbles.  
  
"And I bet you're already planning your next way to annoy the poor man, aren't you? Are you purposely trying to get fired?"  
  
"Hey, hey," Johnny said defensively, "I', just trying to make things more interesting for you."  
  
"I'm sure Saunders appreciates that."  
  
The rest of the writers snickered. One of them signed reproachfully at the rest. "I don't know about you," he said, "But I've a story to finish by tomorrow." There was a surfeit of sheepish glances and noises of agreement among the crowd, followed by an exodus from the sofas and tapping fingers on computer keys. The mood of bonhomie was over, Johnny sighed and logged onto his user name to work on a pending article.  
  
Eventually it was time for lunch, and Johnny levered himself from the seat, lanky frame hopping easily over the arm of the chair. "Anyone want me to bring in some lunch?" he asked, "I'm going to the Chinese place down the street."  
  
"Not today..."  
  
"Nah."  
  
"No thanks."  
  
"Suit yourselves, but I really think you're missing out on something wonderful here--"  
  
"Good/bye/, Johnny..."  
  
He ambled outside, down the street, fishing in his pockets for the lighter and cigarettes. He flicked open the top of the Bic, lit it carefully, and held one of the cigarettes into the flame. Replacing the pack of cigarettes and putting the lit one into his mouth deftly enough, Johnny kept the lighter out, subconsciously playing with the fire. He made it twist around into little loops until someone accidentally bumped into him from behind.  
  
The flame shrank to its usual size and shape, the intricate loops vanishing instantly. "Bugger," Johnny said, jerking the lighter away from his hand to avoid a burn. After that he wove more carefully through the throng. Sydney in the afternoon must surely have equaled the bustle of New York or any other major city, mustn't it?  
  
Johnny had no particular love for the cities, he enjoyed the many different options for diversions or entertainment, but couldn't find in his heart the fanatical devotion to tall buildings that so many people had. Johnny felt at home anywhere he was, whether it was Sydney, the suburbs, or even the ocean, where he'd gone scuba diving once with all the American tourists.  
  
Thinking about this, wrapped up with his thoughts, he almost bumped into a woman laden with groceries as he went towards the restaurant. She made a noise of disgust and St. John Allerdyce smiled cheerfully, if somewhat absently, at her. He went inside, the place wasn't crowded, they did a quick turnover with the counter in the back, and the cooks were fast and efficient. He knew one of them, a slim girl with a brazen smile.  
  
"Hi, Xin Qian," he greeted her cheerfully. "How's business?"  
  
She rolled her eyes expressively. "Tourists," Xin Qian said, mouth twisting, "Rude ones." She seemed oddly distracted.  
  
"Ouch," Johnny said sympathetically.  
  
"Ex/actly/," she said, "So... will it be the usual today?"  
  
"Yes please."  
  
Xin Qian widened her eyes innocently at him, although they looked tired and dark. "How did I know?"  
  
"My, you're quite the mind reader."  
  
"Hmm," Xin Qian said, though the grin was gone, and she looked as though she'd been abruptly reminded of something unpleasant.  
  
Johnny wondered what he'd done wrong. "Xin Qian?" he said, questioning.  
  
"It's... It's nothing," she said abruptly, and went to prepare his General Tso's chicken and fried rice. He knew something was wrong, because she usually made fun of his choices - she called him an uneducated white boy. Which, in many ways, was true. Today, however, she seemed preoccupied, and it had only been after his comment... When she returned with the food, Johnny frowned at her, and lowered his voice.  
  
"Xin Qian?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," she said shortly, "It isn't safe to talk about that, Johnny, and you should know better."  
  
"Xin Qian?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I didn't say anything."  
  
Her eyes widened slightly, and she raised her hand to cover her mouth. "Oh, no," the girl moaned, "I've been trying not to... Take your food and go, Johnny, I... I'll be okay." She put the other hand to her head, and turned away from him.  
  
"No, Xin Qian, I know what you're going--"  
  
"No!" she said, flipping her hair angrily over one shoulder, "You think you know. But you don't. What you are, what you do, it's all a joke to you, isn't it? You're not afraid of the consequences." She spoke quietly but intensely, her feeling conveyed with the force of her words.  
  
"It's not that I'm not afraid, but you've got to learn to enjoy it. Like you have to enjoy life. We've always agreed on the last one, haven't we?" Johnny asked, shooting an appealing smile at her. It bothered him to see her so upset, even though she wasn't a /very/ close friend; he still had some experience with the shock that she was feeling, and he felt almost responsible for her.  
  
"Johnny, you /don't/ know. I /can't turn it off/. It's voices, all the time, in my head. It's driving me crazy. I forget, sometimes, drown them out, but something always brings it forward, and I can't get away from it. I'm cursed, Johnny, and my parents will kill me if they find out! Take your food and /go/. I'll deal with it by myself."  
  
He left then, with some misgiving. Xin Qian's suicide, three days later, made the front page of the papers. Saunders, smiling nastily, had assigned Johnny to the story. "You knew her, didn't you, Allerdyce?" he asked with a smirk, "This should be interesting enough for you."  
  
Johnny took the abuse without expression, for the first time in his life feeling guilty. Had he pushed her over the edge? Was it possible that he could have helped Xin Qian by staying and talking to her? The questions roiled in his mind uncomfortably as he walked down the street, trench coat drawn up around his neck, very uncomfortably.  
  
Eventually he came to the conclusion that there was no way he could have helped her, but he still felt vaguely guilty about what had happened. Poor Xin Qian. He could never go back there again, he would feel too strange facing Xin Qian's parents and knowing what he did about their daughter...  
  
It was in this mindset that he sat on the park bench, watching a small blaze on the ground. Someone had dropped a cigar and lit the leaves on fire. Johnny channeled his anger into the fire, making it leap up and dance, hot rage at Xin Qian's supposed lack of options. To a bystander, he would have looked quite odd, a fairly tall, lanky youth, eyes shining oddly in the eerie light from the fire; that now consumed a small bush and the surrounding grass.  
  
"St. John Allerdyce?" someone asked.  
  
"What?" Johnny yelped, losing control of the flames. They shrunk abruptly to a less menacing level. He looked up, and saw a heavyset man with thinning blond hair, wearing a dark suit and a white tie. Johnny was not a fashion maven, but the combination looked rather odd on the man - too dignified for someone who looked as though he should be in either an Army dress uniform or fatigues.  
  
"We've been watching you for quite some time now," the man said smoothly, "And we're very interested in what you have to offer us."  
  
"Who are you?" Johnny asked. He was a reporter, first and foremost, and questions always came first.  
  
"I work for a private company," the man said blandly, and it was impossible to tell if he was lying.  
  
"/What/ private company?" Johnny repeated.  
  
"Details will come later," the man in the suit said, raising an eyebrow and smiling a shark-like grin, "But first, I'd like to know if you'd like to hear more..."  
  
"I'm listening," Johnny said guardedly.  
  
"Good, good," the man smiled, "/Perfect/."  
  
X  
  
Hatori Yuki sat in the small room of the apartment, and shivered. It was fairly drafty, uncomfortable and damp. The desk of the computer, rusty metal, and her arms were cold where they rested there; Yuki pondered getting a sweater, and shrugged. At any moment, she might crack through the system, and she didn't want to miss the initial seconds of elation that she always felt on getting through successfully. "Come on, come on," she muttered to herself, fingers jittering on the desk.  
  
She was a small girl, as well, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, with a young face. She had round features and soft cheeks, still with lingering traces of baby fat, and a pert mouth that was chapped and rough looking. Yuki's hair, naturally black, was interspersed with bright red streaks, cut short and somewhat spiky in the back. Her frame, rather delicate, lacked both grace and muscle, and she was swathed in a huge coat that was far too large for her, as well a pair of rimless glasses.  
  
Black eyes reflected the light from the computer screen as the program she'd created suddenly beeped and flashed, indicating that it had finally worked. "Yes!" Yuki said, completely unembarrassed to be caught speaking to herself. There was no one else there to hear her, anyway, and probably they wouldn't have cared if they did.  
  
"Let's see what you've got here..." the girl whispered as she surveyed the data that she'd cracked into. It was a professor's files, on his personal computer. She looked for something, anything incriminating... She'd always suspected that there was something wrong about him, and his email accounts proved it. On at least three occasions shown here, he'd slept with his students (male students, at that) in exchange for higher grades.  
  
"Ohhh, I've got you now," Yuki crowed. And he'd refused to listen to her complaints about unfair grading on the most recent paper they'd written, and looked down on her because she was a girl, in a computer course... She snickered to herself, completely not guilty about the fact that she was about to ruin a man's career. He'd lied, in at least one case, slept with a minor, and generally caused his own imminent downfall.  
  
It served him right, to say the very least.  
  
Yuki attached the copies of the email to another mail, from a safely anonymous address that she'd encrypted herself. Even if the college employed crackers of their own, she doubted they'd be good enough to get past her own security systems. She attached the professor's doom to the email, and sent it to at the college president, the dean, and several wealthy patrons, as well as the head of the professor's department. And, for good measure, a carbon copy to the New York Times.  
  
Even if the college tried to hush up the scandal, /some/one would know. With a vindictive smile, Yuki pressed the button that sent the email, and leaned back with a very satisfied whistle. She ignored, of course, the fact that she'd broken innumerable laws just seconds ago. Although, if you think about it, she thought to herself, I'm acting like... Like a super hero.  
  
The thought amused Yuki, and she snickered again. If I were a super hero, I'd probably be Enid from Ghost World. And that doesn't count.  
  
The recent work and the adrenaline rush were making her hungry, so she grabbed her boots and wriggled her feet into them. She was already wearing the coat, and no one in this part of New York would mind if she walked around in her pajamas. They'd probably seen stranger things already that day, or in their lifetimes. One small Japanese girl in a coat and fuzzy shirt wouldn't be one of the odder events of the week.  
  
She left the apartment, a one room, prison-like box, and went out onto the streets, seeking sustenance. Yuki went to the one local Burger King, carrying with her own copy of Ender's Shadow, and went up to the counter to order. Carrying her tray with its chicken sandwich and fries, and chocolate milkshake, Yuki took up a seat by the window, reading, eating when it occurred to her to do so, and people watching. They were amusing, all of them, whether they knew it or not.  
  
Yuki's parents were first-generation immigrants, who lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Both of them were intelligent, but extremely absent-minded folk. Both of them were the same sort; they could fill in the New York Times crossword in ink, but couldn't for the life of them manage to find a loaf of bread in the refrigerator.  
  
Both of them had been, of course, extremely proud when Yuki had been accepted into New York University, on scholarship, nonetheless. Yuki's chosen field was computer study, a broad enough career that could be narrowed accordingly. She'd always liked computers, but had never let her parents find out about her more clandestine activities, such as the hacking.  
  
Yuki sincerely would have liked to make her parents proud, but they knew that if they ever found out the truth about her, everything would be ruined.  
  
For Hatori Yuki, honors student and loving daughter, was a mutant.  
  
She had been thirteen when the powers manifested themselves, thirteen and confused, going through a difficult period in her life. Yuki had come home from school one day, angry at life and the world in general, angry with her parents and God, and had attempted to turn on the radio. To her shock and immediate fear, a current of searing electrical energy had fried the circuits completely and rendered it a useless hunk of metal.  
  
Yuki had told her parents there'd been an electrical surge through the wire, and neither of them noticed that the radio hadn't been plugged in.  
  
Gradually, though, she'd found out more about what she could do, and harnessed it. Yuki had even managed to use her natural electricity to help cracking particularly difficult files. An extra burst of energy helped, sometimes.  
  
Yuki was a fairly rational person, and so, when the man in the black suit and white tie approached her and offered her a job, she considered it carefully before accepting.  
  
It just seemed, to the girl, that there was very little to lose and quite a bit to gain. "I'm in," she told the man, who smiled like a shark.  
  
X  
  
The man in the suit had explained to Vanya what he was. It was, he had to admit, rather intriguing. He'd known always that he'd a gift, but if anyone had asked him to put a name to it, it would have been quite impossible. Everything made a bit more sense, now, and though Vanya still didn't trust the man in the suit, well… He rarely trusted an employer. Nothing new here.  
  
The man had also explained that the nature of this work would take him to America, the general area of New York in particular. He would be working with two others, both mutants, on a not-quite-legal job. He had false citizenship papers and birth certificate, as well as a driver's license and a passport that showed he'd been visiting England. His faint Russian accent was impossible to disguise. The man had also stipulated no questions asked, details would be provided as needed, and the pay excellent.  
  
And so Vanya Nikitin packed up his meager bag of belongings in the apartment. There wasn't much besides clothes and the refrigerator, which he sold to the family across the hallway, and then shoved the bag underneath the bed, and waited for Gemma to come for the last time. He kissed her goodbye early in the morning, and she had no idea it would be the last time she'd see him.  
  
At seven a.m. Vanya caught a cab to the airport. He ate breakfast at the café near the gates, sipping a cup of black coffee and shoveling down a water mess of eggs and lukewarm sausage and soggy toast. At the table nearby a family was also eating, although the little girl spilled a cup of orange juice on herself and burst into loud sobs, more for the attention than anything else. The mother took her by the hand to buy another shirt. Finished with his own breakfast, Vanya returned the tray to the counter, and went to wait out the arrival of his flight.  
  
The lines were so long and complicated that he was almost tempted to sneak past, but no, that wouldn't do, the man in the suit had demanded low profile. Vanya assumed that low profile included his usual manner of dress - he did not change /that/ for anyone. Instead he waited in the line, absently people watching as he listened to his headphones, which fit comfortably into a distended pocket.  
  
Coach class on American Airlines was crowded, but Vanya got the aisle seat, and was able to stretch out his legs comfortably enough. The in flight movie was called Happy Gilmore. He had never seen it before and, after, concluded that he hadn't been missing much. He ate the tasteless lunch, later, and waited for the flight to land.  
  
The woman sitting next t him was middle-aged, fair haired, and looked, at first, rather frightened. Whether it was of his appearance or his accent, Vanya couldn't tell, but after a while, she asked him tentatively where he was from.  
  
"St. Petersburg," he told the woman.  
  
"Oh, my," she fluttered, "This is my first time leaving the country. I'm visiting my brother. Can I ask why you're going to New York, young man?"  
  
Vanya, feeling mischievous, told her a long, convoluted sob story, tragedy upon tragedy, with a look of noble stoicism on his face. Within half an hour, after he finished telling her about his half sister's cancer, the woman was gaping at him in complete disbelief. "Oh, you poor boy!" she murmured, lower lip quivering. It had never occurred to her that he might be lying. Vanya had to excuse himself so that he could go to the bathroom and laugh.  
  
And so Ivan Egorovich Nikitin amused himself on that long flight. Finally the plane was landing, and he could see JFK airport beneath the plane's wings, approaching quickly. From there it was a simple matter of following instructions and catching the cab - he was to meet his future partners at the spacious apartment that had been rented for them.  
  
X  
  
Johnny Allerdyce eyed the two mutants, who were sitting on the chairs in the living space, also examining him and each other. The first one, the man, was... Colorful. His face might be considered handsome to a certain type of woman, but wasn't remarkably so. He had light blue eyes and black hair, and a thin mouth quirked in a pleasant, if somewhat cynical, smile. Perhaps the strangest thing about him was clothes and piercings.  
  
His ears were pierced in numerous places with silver hoops and studs, all over the cartilage and lobe, and both eyebrows sported other rings and small balls of silver. The nose was punctured three times, and there was a stud centered below his lip, and another one in his tongue. It was possibly the most metal on anyone's face that Johnny had seen close up.  
  
The clothes were also eccentric, to say the least. He wore a long sleeved shirt in a black and white checkered pattern, over that a shirt advertising a band called 'The Moldy Peaches,' and over /that/ was a green and purple plaid button down, left open. His pants bagged around his legs, obscuring them, and his shoes, red Chucks, had song lyrics scribbled in black pen all over them.  
  
The girl was Japanese, and wore a huge trench coat that was far too large for her. Her face seemed young, to Johnny, though he thought that he wasn't much older than she. She smiled cheerfully at the two of them, and waved a hand in greeting. "Hi," she said.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"I'm Yuki. Codenamed," and here, she snickered, "Current."  
  
"I wasn't too pleased about those, either," Johnny agreed, "But at least we get to pick them ourselves."  
  
"True," Yuki agreed. "And you are...?"  
  
"St. John Allerdyce, Johnny, or Pyro. Whichever appeals most to you."  
  
"Pyro," she said, "Fire?"  
  
"Yes... What're your powers, then?"  
  
She held up her hand, sparking with electricity, and he understood. "Ah. You're our hacker, then?"  
  
"Yep," Yuki said, and then glanced at the other man. "Mind introducing yourself?"  
  
"Not at all," the faintly accented voice replied. "Vanya Nikitin at your service. Codename Puck," he said, with distaste, making a face, "It's so... juvenile."  
  
"Puck?"  
  
"A sprite, in Shakespearean plays... I've got useful powers," Vanya said smugly, "Now you see me," and abruptly, he was not there, "Now you don't."  
  
"Impressive," Yuki said. "So, judging from what each of us can do... We're going to be stealing something."  
  
"Yes," Johnny said, "The question is: what?" 


End file.
